


Night's Cold Embrace

by TheArgentMoon



Category: Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Romance, Thief (2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArgentMoon/pseuds/TheArgentMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since he last saw Erin, and Garrett has yet to give up. The rise of the aggrieved Graven and the stirrings of another familiar group complicate his search, however, to say nothing of a young woman that is entwined in the whole affair. Amidst an insurrection, chaos and ancient magic, Garrett must come to terms with the events that will alter the course of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The minute I popped the 2014 Thief game in my PS3 and started playing it, I knew that I had to write a fanfiction about it. So, here is the fruit of my labour. (This has been copied from my FanFiction account by the way, in case any of you recognize it.)  
> Without further ado, here is Night's Cold Embrace. I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to leave comments/reviews if you feel so inclined :)

_What's that in the shadows,_

_Concealed, thriving in darkness?_

_What are those footsteps you hear?_

_The displacement of air you feel behind you?_

_Just a trick of the light,_

_A rat in the street,_

_A breath of wind._

_But do you trust your senses?_

_Be wary, for Night harbors all sorts of souls_

_Who emerge, safe in her cold embrace,_

_And are set loose upon us all._

...

Garrett jumped through the open window of the clock tower. Even though he was safe there, he moved silently out of habit. He sighed as he made his way to his battered bed on tired legs. He had searched every inch of the city, looking for Erin to no avail. He knew that eventually he would have to leave the town if he was to find her. But the City was his home. It was the one place where he felt that he belonged.

As he sank down onto the bed, his hands moved to withdraw an arrow from the quiver slung across his shoulder. He fiddled with it absentmindedly, resting his elbows on his thighs.

Despite his efforts to suppress it, a terrible thought crossed his mind. What if he didn't want to find Erin? She was the closest thing to a family he had, but she had changed so much over the years. Having abandoned his thieving methods in favour of her own, which she thought to be superior, she had become a different person. Could he confront her, after all that had happened? And if he did, what would he do? Try to change her beliefs? Convince her to follow in his footsteps?

 _I can imagine how that would go_ , he thought with a smirk.

Garrett took a deep breath to clear his mind, removing all his gear and then placing it beside his bed. He lay back and rested his head over his clasped hands. Now wasn't the time to make major decisions; he didn't trust his judgement when he was deprived of sleep.

The silence bothered him. He missed the comforting, hypnotic ticking of the clock. It was difficult to sleep without the sound. He had considered repairing the clock, but since it hadn't been working for over a year its sudden restoration might raise suspicions amongst the townspeople. They may have believed that the tower was haunted, but he didn't want to take any chances. After all, there are always skeptics and pragmatists in the world. Or those desperate enough to do just about anything for some coin.

Feeling the tugs of sleep slowly pull him towards unconsciousness, Garrett closed his eyes and relaxed his tense muscles.

The sun was rising. It was time to sleep.


	2. Part I: The Revolt - Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Coarse language in this chapter.

**Part I: The Revolt**

 

The cold night air bit through the cloth mask concealing Garrett's face, painting colour on his usually ashen face. He crept silently over rooftops, hopping effortlessly from rafter to rafter. Instinctively he stayed within the confines of the shadows to avoid being spotted, but he doubted the City Watch officers, who were celebrating the receding Gloom, were sober or alert enough to be searching for any thieves in the night. They probably wouldn't even have noticed him if he walked right past them in the light of the torches.

Little did they know that in the poorest areas of town, lingering wisps of the Gloom still clung to its victims like the stifling smell of smoke trapped in one's clothing. Most of the sickness disappeared along with the Primal Stone's power, but for some reason it refused to vanish completely. Conveniently for the aristocrats, who were well fed and kept warm in their houses while the rest of the townspeople starved in the bitter cold, the lower class people were the ones who suffered from the lingering trace of the disease.

Garrett tended to keep away from the poorer districts of the city as much as possible; it was depressing and frustrating to be reminded of the inevitability of hierarchy in society. The rich would always thrive while the poor would always suffer. He had thought that restraining the Primal power and putting an end to the Gloom would at least balance the social strata slightly, but he had only succeeded in widening the gap between classes even more.

Despite being acutely aware of his immediate surroundings, Garrett was surprised to find himself already at The Crippled Burrick. He needed to talk to Basso and find a job, something arduous to distract him from the flurry of thoughts in his head.

He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing behind him with keen eyes to ensure that no one was watching. After a quick sweep of the area, he opened the creaky wooden door and quickly closed it shut behind him.

The stale air and dreary atmosphere immediately overwhelmed him when he entered the tavern. Surprisingly, clusters of people were talking amongst themselves around the bar.

Garrett tried to avoid walking past the larger groups; he wasn't particularly fond of people in general. He was relieved to find Basso alone in an empty booth. The large man was hunched over a mug of beer.

Silently, Garrett slipped into the bench opposite Basso.

"Glad you finally decided to show," he said as he raised the mug to his lips. He took a sloppy gulp before speaking again.

"Jobs have been piling up. And you know I don't trust those street rats out there who think that stealing a loaf of bread makes them somehow qualified for what I need them to do."

Garrett leaned back against the bench and crossed his arms. "What do you need done, Basso?"

"Well to start with, a man going by the name Jeremy Albright has in possession a rather pricey family heirloom. Keeps it on display somewhere in his room."

"That's an easy job, Basso. Anyone quiet and careful enough can do that." Garrett sensed that Basso was keeping something from him.

Basso took another swig of his drink, then paused before speaking again.

"I-I know, but Garrett you… are you okay? You haven't responded to my messages and I haven't seen you since… what happened with Orion." Basso slammed his mug down on the table. "That bastard. I should have known he was too good to be true. Those fucking Northcrests…"

Garrett narrowed his eyes and knit his brows together, looking at Basso questioningly.

"I was worried, Garrett. I needed answers. It was hard, but I found – what does she go by… the Queen of Beggars? Took me a while to find her. Only found out recently who she was by some fellow who claimed she knew more than me about the goings-on of the city."

"She talked to you?" Garrett said, slightly taken aback.

"She was pretty damn cryptic, but yeah, she did. The woman's reputation does precede her. Seemed to know who I am, that I know you. She told me what happened." He paused to chuckle lightly. "And I thought I knew the city inside out."

Basso tipped the dregs of alcohol from the mug into his mouth, then looked at Garrett and sighed.

"All right, you want a real job? If you're sure you can handle it, I need help obtaining a... a scripture of sorts."

"I didn't take you for the religious type, Basso," Garrett said teasingly.

"I wouldn't dare take on religion in this day and age." Basso lowered his voice. "Especially if it concerned the old gods. I'd be hanged if anyone knew I wanted this."

"So where is this illicit composition?" Garrett asked.

"My sources tell me it's kept secretly by a Thomas Northington. Don't ask me why he has it. He's an associate of the Baron who, by the way, has gone insane after the… the whatever it's called that was apparently the cause of this whole Gloom sickness disappeared. God knows why that crazy bastard wants to keep that power after all the trouble it's caused."

Basso waved his empty mug at the bartender, demanding a refill.

"What makes you so sure the Primal's power is gone?" Garrett said, leaning forward slightly. "If all traces of the Primal in Erin were removed and sealed in the stone, then why hasn't everyone been cured of the Gloom?"

Garrett noticed that Basso was glancing pointedly at his right eye, which was faintly glowing in the dark tavern.

"I'm not connected to the city; I never was. It was only Erin." Garrett spoke to reassure himself more than Basso.

"Well, did you ever think that maybe no one has the Gloom anymore? I mean, look at the type of people you think show the symptoms. They have plenty of reasons to be depressed with their lives. Besides, people have been committing suicide long before the Gloom came."

Basso nodded in thanks at the man who brought another beer. He immediately started gulping down the pint, finishing it in a few mouthfuls.

Garrett pondered Basso's words for a minute before sliding out of the booth.

"I'll have the scripture for you tomorrow," he said before making his way towards the door.

"Oh, and Garrett," Basso called out. "Be careful, hey?"

Garrett paused in his tracks and turned his head slightly towards Basso.

"When am I not?" He replied before continuing on.

At the doorway he delicately pulled the cloth over his face again, then stepped out of the tavern into the cold, welcoming night.


	3. Chapter 2

After leaving the tavern, Garrett immediately set off to get Basso his scripture. He still had a few hours of darkness to use to his advantage. It was a cool, foggy night too; the perfect night for a thief.

Garrett followed the main road heading towards the Baron's Keep. The Northingtons were well acquainted with the Northcrests and naturally lived in the nicer area of the City; anyone who was on good terms with Elias Northcrest typically benefited from being loyal to him. That is, as long as the person was of the more affluent.

 _Loyal_ , Garrett thought.  _More like too superior to help the poor or too scared to speak out against the Baron._

Garrett continued padding quietly down the cobblestone road, ducking behind crates every so often whenever a couple of Watch officers passed by. It was risky being out in the open road, which was lighted profusely by torches and lampposts, but Garrett enjoyed the challenge and thrill of being in constant danger and reveled in knowing that he might get caught any second. Keeping himself on his toes was what kept him alive.

He continued down the road until eventually he approached the aristocratic residential area. The Baron insisted that the gate he had built around the area was simply decorative, but everyone knew it was to keep everyone who wasn't rich out. After briefly searching for the barely noticeable aperture in the stone wall, Garrett slipped through.

The contrast between the higher class' residence and the rest of the City was startling. Not only were the houses lavishly decorated, but the whole area was cleaner and emptier. It was almost unbelievable that just outside of the gate people were starving to death everyday.

Within minutes, he found himself at the Albrights' estate. The large house exuded an air of elegance and boasted of wealth. Its inhabitants clearly took pride in their high standing in society. A few guards appeared to circle the whole perimeter of the house regularly; entering would not be easy. But then again, Garrett never liked an easy task.

Taking care to keep within the shadows, Garrett slowly made his way towards the back of the house. There were few light sources, but the guards carried torches and appeared to be vigilant in their watch. A couple of times he had to retreat as they approached, but eventually he reached a set of pipes which led straight to an open window. He scaled a straight pipe, then jumped with some difficulty to a higher horizontal one to his left. Garrett paused when he saw a light approaching and waited a few seconds before continuing. The window on the second floor was cracked open an inch, allowing Garrett to pry it up with his bare hands.

Despite the fact that the room he entered was darkened, Garrett could see the abundant riches contained in the numerous cabinets and drawers lining the room. He quickly relieved the Albrights of the treasures, taking care to close whatever he opened. He preferred not to leave a trail which others could trace back to him.

After a quick sweep of the room, Garrett decided to move on; the scripture must have been elsewhere. He instinctively reached for the lock picks fastened to his wrists as he approached the door. The lock was fairly simple and took mere seconds to pick. Garrett glanced through the keyhole to check for any signs of danger, then quietly opened the door when he saw that the hallway was empty. He crouched down as he exited the room and shut the door behind him. The corridor was dimly lit by several candles on the few tables standing against the walls. Garrett padded quietly towards the next door he saw. The lock on it was more intricate. This must have been where the scripture was kept.

It took a bit longer to unlock the door, but he was still able to open it fairly quickly. The first thing he noticed when he entered was an ornate painting hanging on the wall. A desk made of polished, carved wood was placed under it, various documents and paperwork scattered across its surface. A matching chair was tucked under the table and several tall bookcases lined the other walls.

Garrett walked into the office and up to the painting. He touched the frame gently, then moved his slim fingers behind the cool metal as he slid his hands along the frame in search of switches.

Once he found and pulled all the switches, Garrett popped open the door concealed by the painting. In the safe there were several trinkets and unique looking pieces of jewelry, all of which Garrett took after careful examination, as well as an old, well-used book. The thick tome was bound in worn leather and looked as though it hadn't been touched in a long time. Garrett skimmed through the yellowed pages but didn't bother to read the writing. It was written in Latin, which he couldn't understand, anyway.

The soft, muffled sounds of footsteps outside the door snapped Garrett out of his thoughts. He heard the door handle being slowly pushed down and immediately closed the safe and darted into a dark corner of the room just as the door opened. A young woman tentatively stepped in, clad only in a white, ruffled nightgown. "Father," she said. She spoke timidly, her voice soft and silvery. "I was just-" She paused mid-sentence as she scanned the room. Garrett was puzzled at first by her reaction, but then he understood. The door must have only been unlocked when someone was in the room.

He carefully made his way towards the door, avoiding the light streaming in from the hallway. He waited for the woman to move, but she appeared to be trying to make sense of the situation. After a moment's pause, she finally walked back into the hall. Garrett peeked around the corner and saw her walking away. He waited until she turned a corner before stepping back into the corridor.

He was halfway to the door from which he first entered when he heard a shrill scream. Garrett turned around and saw that the woman had returned with a candle in hand. He was in full view of her, exposed by the light.

Garrett moved quickly, running up to her to cover her mouth with his hand - even though she had already stopped screaming - and wrap an arm around her waist. She was catatonic with shock when he pulled her into the nearest room, her muscles tensed and breathing hitched.

He shut the door quietly and strained to listen for any movement outside, checking if anyone heard her scream and came to investigate.

Once the shock passed, she started to struggle, kicking and clawing desperately at his limbs. The woman was surprisingly strong considering her small stature and Garrett wasn't sure how long he could hold her. He considered knocking her out, but harming innocent girls would be crossing a line even for him.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said quietly into her ear in an attempt to calm her.

Garrett waited until she stopped fighting him, which luckily didn't take long, then gently released her. She whipped around to face him, both apprehension and confusion clearly written on her face, and backed away from him.

A booming voice startled them both.

"Isabella? Where are you? Are you all right? I heard screaming."

As the voice drew closer, Garrett searched for an escape. There were a few windows in the room, but they were small and didn't look like they opened. The only way out was through the door. Finding an escape route wasn't his main concern, though. The trembling person two feet away from him, however, was. There was no guarantee she wouldn't scream, and Garrett knew that she would definitely do so if he tried to approach her.

She was looking at him with trepidation mostly, but for a moment her eyes flashed with concern and curiosity. Garrett gazed at her interestedly; he was accustomed to seeing looks of loathing or fear in other people's faces.

The moment didn't last for long. The thunderous voice called out for the woman again, rousing her from her daze. As if she had just realized that there was a thief in her house, her eyes widened and she let out another ear-piercing scream. The door flew open with a loud bang and a man, who Garrett surmised was Thomas Northington, burst into the room.

The burly man stalked towards Garrett the second he laid eyes on him.

"Thief! Get out of my house!" He called out as he lunged for him.

"With pleasure," Garrett replied dryly as he nimbly dodged the older man's attack and swept past him out through the door.

"The Watch will see you hanged once they catch you!" Came the angry voice, already far away.

"I'd like to see them try." Garrett retorted under his breath.

With the scripture tied securely at his waist, he jumped through a nearby window and quickly rappelled the wall. Garrett slipped into the shadows, melding with the darkness as he left the chaotic scene behind him.

 


	4. Chapter 3

Garrett sighed as he hoisted himself up and through a window of the clock tower. Things didn't exactly go as planned at the Northcrest manor. In all his years as a thief, he had seldom been detected. It hurt his pride more than it did his body, though. He could get out of most situations fairly unscathed.

After hopping into the tower, he strode over to his storage box and lifted the heavy lid up. There were only a few extra blunt arrows and food packets scattered inside. He needed to restock his supplies. As he rummaged through the chest, a faint tapping noise caught his attention. He followed the sound to the windowsill, where Jenivere stood pecking at the wooden frame to notify him of a new message. Garrett walked over and picked up the matchbox laying at her feet, drawing his hand back just before the magpie could peck at it. The bird cawed and fluttered its wings before taking flight and disappearing into the dark sky.

Garrett turned the matchbox, illuminated by the moonlight, over. Basso's rough writing was scrawled across the box in black ink.

_Come by now. Need to talk._

_-B_

Basso wasn't usually this urgent in his messages. Something was amiss. Garrett tossed the light cardboard box into the brazier by the window, resolving to burn it when he returned. He needed to find out what Basso needed from him that was so dire.

* * *

The dusky blue sky was tinged a light orange by the time Garrett reached Black Alley. He needed to make this visit quick if he was to return to the tower in the cover of the receding darkness.

Free to roam around without having to hide from the City Watch, Garrett righted himself. His knees ached slightly from being constantly strained when he crouched. He hoped he wasn't getting too old for the job.

The faint moans and cries of the sick and dying resonated throughout the dark alley. He walked past a few people muttering unintelligibly to themselves and pressing their fingertips to their eyelids. Others appeared to be avoiding everyone else, covering their mouths with cloth and sidestepping the shaking figures huddled on the ground.

He continued onward, his feet landing soundlessly on the damp, uneven road. He followed the path to Basso's office, using a wooden beam overhead to swing through a high open window. Basso was rummaging through one of the many boxes littering the floors and shelves of the room. He froze for a moment, then chuckled as he resumed shuffling through several letters and documents.

"Either I'm getting more alert or you're just getting sloppy."

Garrett scoffed and made his way towards Basso, taking in the familiar sight of the grotty office, the familiar musty smell, the familiar draft coming from the cracks in the ceiling. He removed the scripture form his belt, handing it to Basso as he approached him.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he said as he took the tome from Garrett with an appreciative nod. "Glad I can hire someone who actually knows what they're doing again."

"You called?" Garrett said as he leaned against the stone wall and folded his arms.

"Right, right…" Basso mumbled as he picked up the box and placed it on the ground. He wiped the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand and sighed before continuing.

"Listen, you know most of my sources are fairly reliable. They don't usually let me down, but it happens sometimes."

Garrett nodded, urging Basso to continue. He wondered where the man was going with this.

"Now I can't verify this myself, but some claim to have seen signs of… a regrouping of sorts."

"A regrouping?" Garrett pushed himself off of the wall to stand up straight.

"Some of those bastards who worked for Orion were seen talking together. Well, quite a lot of them apparently."

"The Graven? I thought the Watch took care of them." They did, after all, try to assassinate the Baron.

"Well, apparently not all of them."

Garrett paced the length of the room. A thousand questions flooded his mind. Orion was dead. Did the Graven delegate a new leader? Were they planning another attempt to overthrow the Baron? Did they even have enough people left to start another rebellion? Would they recruit new members? It certainly wouldn't be that difficult, seeing as antipathy towards the Baron was not a rarity amongst the majority of the townspeople.

"Hey," Basso spoke once Garrett opened his mouth. He raised his hands defensively. "I hate to admit this, but I'm not the person you should be asking if you want answers. I haven't gotten much word on this."

Basso walked over to his desk and began flipping through a small stack of papers.

Garrett paused for a moment, then swiftly made his way over to the window. He knew just the person to consult.

"Guess it'd be wishful thinking to hope that one day you'll use the front door, huh?" Basso muttered without raising his eyes from the desk.

Garrett pulled himself up through the window, swinging one leg through it.

"You know me, Basso. I never take the door if I don't have to." He replied before swinging his other leg over and jumping from the ledge.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 4

"Garrett, I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me."

Garrett stepped out of the shadows and into the silvery light of the moon streaming in through the cracks in the ceiling. The Queen of Beggars sat in her faded yet lavishly-cushioned armchair. She gripped the arms of the chair with frail hands, wrinkles and spots mapping out a lifetime across her skin. With a small grunt she lifted herself up and stood on stiff, shaking legs.

"We haven't spoken for nearly two years now, is it? But your friend, he came to visit me quite recently."

"Basso?" Garrett raised a brow.

"He seems to care deeply for you, Garrett. I trust you're not giving him too much to worry about."

"No more than usual. "

The man standing silently beside the Queen placed a wooden cane in her hand. She slowly walked over to the tea tray resting on a table. A silk cloth was spread across the top, covering the worn, splintered surface underneath. The only sound was the sharp tapping of the cane on the stone floor as she walked past Garrett.

"You seek my counsel?"

She poured the tea into a cup, her shaky hand rattling the crockery. She turned around and, as she always did, offered him the tea. Garrett accepted it for decorum's sake; it was the least he could do for her.

"I need to ask you something." Garrett stared down into the steaming, russet liquid. The aromatic smell wafted through the cool air, a burst of colour against the cold, bleak night.

"I've been told that there's been a rekindling amongst the Graven. Is this true?"

"It's come to my attention, yes, but their rather enigmatic leader has yet to be known."

"Could this be connected to the Primal?" He asked as he rocked slightly on his feet, anxious for her response. He walked to the table and quietly placed the teacup back on the tray.

"That has also crossed my mind. I can feel the lingering sickness, Garrett, the darkness that refuses to vanish. The City is not yet rid of the Gloom. I daresay you can feel it as well."

Garrett grew uncomfortable under her omniscient gaze. He started pacing slowly, feeling her eyes following him with every step he took.

"I sealed the Primal stone in Orion's book - " He turned to face her again.

"But three pieces are not the whole." She finished his sentence. Her blind eyes seemed to drift towards his right eye.

"I'm willing to bet that whoever this new leader is has the book, and with that the Primal power." Garrett said as he averted his eyes from her piercing stare.

"The Primal has once again fallen into evil's hands. There is no predicting what will happen this time. The Graven are experienced now, more knowledgeable of the stone and its great power." She reached out and gently grasped his arm. "Garrett, you must stop the madness before it begins, for both your and the City's sakes!"

"I'm no hero." He said bluntly. He stiffened, then gently shrugged her off.

With nothing left to say, he ascended the stone steps leading to the exit, leaving his mentor alone in the middle of the decrepit hall.

 


	6. Chapter 5

Garrett was still pondering what the Queen of Beggars had said. She was right; the Primal was not a power to be trifled with, and would need to be taken care of. Plus, trouble always seemed to follow the Graven. But that didn't mean that he should be the one to fix the City's problems. Besides, when had the City ever treated him with anything other than scorn and the threat of death?

The unmistakable muffled clunking of women's shoes brought Garrett out of his musing. It was odd for a woman to be out at such a late hour. The footsteps grew quicker as drunken hootings and chortles could be heard. Garrett kept to the shadows, but watched as the woman quickened her pace. It was dark and he could only see her back, but Garrett could tell that she was of the upper class. The rich fabric of her burgundy dress and the fine detailing on her matching hat boasted of aristocracy.

Garrett remained unseen even as the ensuing men passed within a foot of him. They appeared to be preoccupied with the woman practically running down the uneven path.

"There you are, pretty lady. Whatch'ou doin' on this side of town, huh?" One of the men called out to her.

"You lost? Let us 'elp you."

"Yeah, it's cold tonight. We can keep you nice an' warm…" They erupted in grating laughter as they started to run after and hoot at the girl, who had already started sprinting away from them.

Garrett's narrowed his eyes. He wondered, and not for the first time, which was more vile: the rats plaguing the City's sewers or the men plaguing the City's streets.

"Oh, she'll sure fetch us a pretty penny."

The woman gasped as she nearly ran into a stone wall. The road led to a dead end.

Garrett made to leave, eager after a long day to return to the safety of the clock tower, but something compelled him to move closer to the helpless woman. Perhaps it was her muffled screams as one of the men grabbed her and covered her mouth, or the grating laughs of the others as she kicked and struggled futilely against her captor. He didn't really know why he bothered nocking an arrow and letting it strike one of the men's skull, rendering him unconscious. Or why he shot another man before sneaking behind the last one and knocking him out with his Blackjack. But it was done, and the woman strangely did not cower from him or try to flee. On the contrary, she looked at him with recognition.

"You're the thief from the other night," she said, her eyes widened with shock.

He realized with a start that she was the girl from the Albright's manor. She looked different in lavish clothing than she did in the plain nightdress he first saw her in. Her rather plain features did not suit the rich garb she wore, he noted. Not that he thought that anyone who flaunted their wealth was the least bit attractive.

Garrett took a step back, wary of her curious eyes studying his face. His instincts told him to run, to leave before she could know enough about him to become a problem or threat, but another part of him sensed that she was neither one of those.

"Wait!" she cried out when he moved. She rearranged her dress and stood up.

"Th-thank you," she stuttered, "I'm- "

"Isabella," he cut her off, "I know."

She winced slightly and lowered her gaze at the sharp tone of his voice. She quickly composed herself, though, and looked back at him.

"Will you tell me your name?" She asked softly, and took a tentative step closer to him.

Garrett stayed silent, hoping that she would pick up on his unwillingness to divulge information to someone he had just met, especially considering that he had a rather large bounty on his head. Then again, by the looks of her intricate jewelry, a golden diamond-studded necklace in particular, she had no use for such a reward.

"Well, please know at least that I am very thankful. Good people like you are- "

She gasped as he swiftly closed the gap between them, her back pressed against stone and his hands braced against the wall beside her head.

"I doubt you'd feel the same if you really knew who I am," he said as he looked into her dark brown eyes.

"I-I know enough about you to know that you wouldn't see an innocent person hurt," she replied, meeting his gaze with a surprising flash of courage and conviction he wouldn't have expected of a meek girl like her.

Garrett exhaled sharply, then straightened himself and promptly disappeared into the shadows before the girl could say another word.

* * *

The streets were dead silent. The firelight illuminated the cobblestone paths, but the warm light did little to mask the somberness in the air. The flickering flames in the sconces danced like tortured souls desperately trying to escape their inevitable dark fates.

In the distance, Garrett heard the scuffling of nervous footsteps, followed by the rattling of a tin can. Curious, he followed the sound to a darkened alleyway branching out from the main square. He waited for a nearby guard to pass, then quietly slipped into the alley. He was able to see the backs of two men before they vanished around the corner. He was about to follow them when something on the wall caught his eye.

Written in bright red paint, a stark contrast to the otherwise dull environment, were the words: DOWN WITH THE BARON.

 


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of Part I... Enjoy :)

"Please! I didn't do anything! Y-you're making a mistake!"

"On your knees!"

After a blissful - albeit brief - period free of brutality, the Watch once again had the City by its throat. They were yet again an unwelcome presence on the streets, both protecting and terrorizing the City's citizens.

Easily unseen and unheard amidst the cries and pleas of the more than likely innocent citizens on the ground, Garrett slid behind a crate closer to the main square.

There were three men lined up in front of the gallows, their hands tied behind their backs and knees forced to the hard ground. Several guards surrounded the area, clearly amused by the event.

In a panicked frenzy, one man stood up and made the mistake of attempting to escape. Foolishly, Garrett noted, considering the fact that even if he could outrun the guards, there were still several archers nearby. Sure enough, the man promptly fell to the ground with a dull thud before he could take two steps, a crossbow bolt protruding grotesquely from the back of his head.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Watch officer spat.

One of the remaining two men remained silent and bowed his head, but the other was trembling and mumbling to himself. The officer laughed derisively and walked in front of them. He crouched in front of them and spoke so quietly that Garrett had to strain his ears to make out the words.

"You see this?" He opened his hand and rubbed his fingers together. "It's wet. Fresh. Red paint." The officer rubbed his hand on one of the men's shirts, eliciting a small wracked sob from him. "I saw your rather less-than-friendly message on the wall. I know one of you did it. You were the only people out on the streets in the middle of the night. So who's going to confess?"

A moment of silence passed. The officer tapped his foot, the iron-toed boot clacking deafeningly against the quietness of night. "Or perhaps the two of you were working together?" When no response came, the officer sighed and righted himself again.

With a wave of his hand, the two prisoners were lifted onto their feet by other Watch members and dragged towards the gallows.

"Now, you understand, don't you? We cannot allow for this blasphemy to be displayed to the public. It would taint the people, twist their minds, possibly even lead to the destruction of everything this city has built, everything that the Baron has worked so hard to give to you."

The trembling man's mumbling grew louder as a noose was tied around his neck. He continued mumbling until the push off of the platform silenced him. As the executioner moved onto the second man, who Garrett noticed was unusually composed, the prisoner calmly shouted, "And from the ashes we, the once oppressed, rise not so that we may build upon the bones of our predecessors but so that we may build a new life altogeth-"

A sharp crack resounded through the air. The body dangled limply from the rope.

"Well, I suppose we know who the culprit was now." The officer chuckled.

Garrett stepped back and retreated to the clock tower. He had seen enough violence for one day.

* * *

He had heard the indignant cries emanating from the town square the next day as more and more people discovered and began to gather around the corpses displayed for all to see. He purposely avoided that area of town as even in the dead of night people were swarming the streets, either angrily shouting at anyone who would listen or simply standing there to watch the show. The Watch had managed to subdue some of the crowd through the use of intimidation, but were struggling to clear much of it off of the streets.

Although Garrett mostly wanted to turn back and head towards a quieter area of town, a small part of him urged him to follow the trail of commoners. The last time that that many people had been out at once in public was during the Summer Festival back before he even knew what the Primal power was.

The path of angry townspeople eventually led unsurprisingly, Garrett thought, to the Baron's high tower. He supposed that the commoners felt they had unfinished business with him. They were all gathered in the Baron's beloved garden, crushing the well-trimmed grass and plants in their anger. Garrett was just about to turn around and leave the commotion behind him when he saw a familiar mousy-haired figure bound in the middle of the crowd.

 _Of course_ , he thought,  _of course it's her again._

 


	8. Chapter 7

"Gil! Gil! Gil! Gil!"

The crowd shouted the name, chanting it like a mantra.

The man who was presumably Gil stood in the centre of the garden, his arms raised high and a dagger clutched loosely in one of his hands. He was fairly short of stature, but well-built. By the many blades strapped at his hip and against his chest, Garrett guessed he was one of the many common miscreants of the City. Gil circled Isabella, who was struggling against the tight bonds securing her to a lamppost. A dead Watch officer lay bathing in a growing pool of crimson on the ground beside her.

As the man lowered his arms and stopped walking, the cries and bellows died down until finally a tense silence filled the air.

"Here we are at last. We knew this day would come. We knew we would finish what we had once failed to do." He paused and closed his eyes, sucking in a large breath of air.

Even from the rooftops across the garden Garrett could see that the man relished the power he held over the gathering. The people hung onto his every word, and were eager to hear what he would say next. The scene reminded Garrett vaguely of dogs awaiting their master's next command.

"That man," he gestured towards the mansion in front of him, "claims to be the City's saviour; he claims that he will scourge the town of the evil residing within it. He says this, yet what does he do? He taints the streets with his wretched Watch officers, the true evil of the City! He says all this, while he sits nice and pretty in his ivory tower." The man spit on the ground, prompting more shouting. The noise stopped abruptly when he raised his hand.

"And what do we do? What do we do to someone who's taken everything from us and left us for dead in the ratholes of the city?" He turned to Isabella, who immediately froze in place, then sauntered over to her slowly. "We take what's his, and we destroy it." He growled the last few words as he stepped closer to the trembling figure in front of him.

"No! No! Please! Don't-" Isabella fell silent when he pressed his dagger against her neck. With his other hand, he grasped a fistful of her hair and held her head in place as she whimpered in fear.

"But," he said as he slowly lowered the blade, "We are not savages. We are by no means evil. We wouldn't kill this girl in cold blood." He chuckled as he ruffled her hair playfully. Isabella flinched from his touch and looked horrifyingly up at him. His tone suddenly darkened, all mirth leaving his face, as he growled, "we'd only kill her if we have very good reason to."

Garrett slowly reached for his bow, his fingers hovering over an arrow in his quiver just in case things got out of hand. He wasn't too keen on revealing his presence to a crowd of people, but neither was he on letting a young girl be slaughtered.

"Our actions in the past may have been a little… zealous. Tonight, we will face the Baron like men. Let's pray, for the poor soul of this lovely young lady here, that he's accepting visitors tonight."

He whistled, and two men approached Isabella and cut her off of the lamppost. They forced her hands behind her back and bound them together before roughly pushing her forward towards the mansion. She made a weak and stupid, in Garrett's opinion, attempt to kick herself free from her captors. They only laughed at the feeble effort and backhanded her so hard that she fell to the ground before she promptly pushed herself upright again. The girl had spirit, Garrett thought, he'd at least give her that.

Gil barked at his lackeys to take her to a building across the square before turning back to the eager crowd.

"Now," Gil shouted over the clamour of the mob, "we've come this far. What say we end this?"

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 8

Garrett silently followed Isabella as much as he could from the rooftops. Gil took her to a balcony opposite that of the Baron's mansion, the few surviving guards of which stood nervously by the door on the terrace. Word must have gotten around that the mob had taken a hostage, for the Baron himself soon stepped out of the mansion.

"Mr. Northcrest," Gil exclaimed in a mockingly polite tone, "what a pleasure it is to be speaking to you, sir."

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" The Baron replied coldly.

"A simple request, a simple deal to make," Gil said with a smile that never reached his eyes.

Gil yanked Isabella flush against his chest and once again drew the dagger flat against her neck. "But let's skip the formalities, shall we? I know you're a very busy man." He flipped the dagger and pushed until the sharp edge just began to cut into her pale skin.

"You would harm a girl who doesn't even have any part in this to get what you want?" The Baron said composedly. Garrett didn't detect any genuine concern or fear in his tone or voice, despite the fact that a girl was being held at knifepoint mere metres in front of him. Somehow, that didn't surprise him.

Gil chuckled as he tightened his grip on her. She cried out in protest but didn't move. "But you see, she does have a part in this. She's just as guilty as you are. Like you, she's one of the noble born. Like you, she sits around all day, eating her fill and enjoying the safety and comfort of her own home. Like you, she lives in this paradise while the rest of us all burn in hell!" He shouted, his lips curling vehemently around each word.

He waited until the indignant cries and shouts had died down before continuing. "We offer you a choice now, Baron, because unlike you, we will never be cold-hearted, selfish monsters." He removed the blade from her neck then and lowered it slightly. "Surrender to us, to the Graven, and let us start anew. Let us create a City that the people need. We know what's best for them. We are them. We only ask that you do what's best for the City and its people."

"And if I should decline your… altruistic offer?"

"Then you will watch the City burn, your precious little Isabella with it."

Garrett narrowed his eyes at that remark; he wondered who this girl exactly was.

The Baron scoffed. "So you would burn the very people you wish to help? Do you honestly expect me to leave the fate of this city in the hands of you savages?"

"We would only burn the evil in the City. And afterwards, we would take responsibility of the cleansed city. So the choice is yours: will you relinquish the City from your iron grip or will you force our hand and make us kill to save it?"

The Baron straightened his back and raised his head. "You do not know how to govern a city, and you will never have the opportunity to." He turned around to enter the mansion again, but paused and looked over his shoulder before he opened the door. "I'm sorry, Isabella, I truly am. You must understand that I'm doing what needs to be done."

"You monster! You're no better than these brutes!" She shouted as she thrashed violently, but the press of the knife against her throat quickly stilled her.

"This girl's death is on your filthy hands, Baron!" Gil cried out after him.

When the door slammed shut, he closed his eyes and whispered just barely audibly, "And from the ashes we, the once oppressed, rise not so that we may build upon the bones of our predecessors but so that we may build a new life altogether."

There was a slight twitch in his arm, a slight movement presaging an attack or action that only a thief of Garrett's caliber would have been able to detect. Time seemed to slow as he whipped out an arrow from his quiver and, without pause, nocked and loosed it before Gil's arm could move any further. Just as Garrett heard Isabella scream in terror and defiance, the arrow found its target and Gil dropped to the floor.

For a moment, everyone stood still in confusion. Then, all at once, panic and chaos erupted. The mob of the Graven immediately turned to the archers posted on the mansion's balcony, and soon they were smashing in the windows and doors of the mansion in their unbridled rage. Glass shattered and wood splintered apart as the mob destroyed the mansion.

Out of the corner of his eye, Garrett could see the Baron, accompanied by two guards, fleeing the scene through a back entrance of the gardens. He was about to give chase when he heard Isabelle cry out in pain. He ran to the edge of the roof and leapt to the balcony, landing lightly behind the dying Gil who had his hand wrapped around Isabelle's ankle and brought her crashing down to the ground.

"You bitch! You'll-" He grunted as Garrett brought his foot down on his forearm. He promptly let Isabelle go. She scuffled to the edge of the balcony and glared at Gil.

The man looked up to see his attacker, then laughed as he looked him up and down. "So this is the enigmatic, notorious Garrett? I expected you to be taller and skinnier, but you look pretty normal."

Garrett remained silent and walked away from the pathetic man on the ground. He didn't deserve the company of another person before his death. He turned to the girl still sitting on the floor, her eyes glued to the moribund man beside her. Gil began spluttering and convulsing violently, blood spouting profusely from his mouth and the wound in his chest. Garrett considered killing the man not only out of mercy, but also so that he would stop making those irritating noises.

His thoughts were interrupted by the crash of a bottle nearby, followed by a strong rush of hot air as flames erupted around the broken glass. Garrett roughly pulled the catatonic girl to her feet and shook her briefly before muttering, "We need to leave. Now." She nodded, her gaze directed towards Gil's still corpse. Stumbling, she following him out of the house and away from the crazed mob who had by then moved past the Baron's property and onto other houses.

Isabella abruptly stopped, prompting Garrett to whip around and grab her arm. She shook him off as he dragged her further, digging her heels into the ground.

"No! We can't leave! It's not just the Baron back there. Families, children,  _innocent_  people are going to die if we don't do anything!" She looked at him with pleading eyes. "My father is there."

Garrett sighed. He was beginning to regret toting her along. Just as he was about to turn around and continue walking, she clutched his arm in a gentle yet desperate grasp.

"Please! Don't leave! We must go back. It's the right thing to-" He jerked his arm away and turned to face her.

There was something odd about her; she was different from most of the townspeople. Her obvious care for the well being of others was part of what separated her from the rest, but there was something more than that. Garrett studied her face, his gaze momentarily meeting her widened eyes. There was a glimmer of hope, innocence, courage and life that was rare and unfitting of a person living in the godforsaken city.

His gaze softened for a brief second, hardening almost immediately afterwards. He shifted his gaze to the blaze behind the girl. The flames danced horrifically, cutting through the cold night air laced with the panicked and agonized cries of the countless people unfortunate enough to be trapped in the once safest place in the City. _Like tortured souls desperately trying to escape their inevitable fates_ , he thought bleakly to himself.

With a booming thud, followed by hooting and cheering, a small building up the street crumbled to the ground.

"There's nothing more to be done here," he said flatly.

Isabella turned her head as if to look behind her, but quickly changed her mind and instead lowered her eyes to the ground. She padded slowly behind the thief as he led her away from the bedlam behind them and into the sheltering darkness of night ahead.

There was nothing they, nor anyone else, could do. The City was immutably, irrevocably plunged into utter anarchy.

 

**_End of Part I_ **


	10. Part II: The New Order - Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the sparks of a rebellion of the destitute against the privileged have given rise to mayhem. Chaos reigns. Flames burn. The City's fate hangs in the balance...  
> Enough chitter-chatter, though. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

**Part II: The New Order**

 

The usually stagnant air in the City was made thick and worsened tenfold by the heavy smoke that refused to lift. By the time Garrett and Isabella arrived at the clock tower, the smoke from the roaring flames that had spread to and now devastated the rest of the City was rousing coughing fits from the both of them.

"I imagine this is how my uncle must have felt when he was bedridden with phthisis." She paused to grasp at the cemented wall, doubled over in a paroxysm of coughing. "Or, perhaps this is worse."

The thin piece of cloth covering Garrett's nose and mouth did little to prevent the smog from entering his lungs, but he was well-versed in suppressing anything that might betray his presence and was able to hold back most of his coughs. He paused, standing rigidly in front of the girl and flexing his fingers while her fit passed. The square was empty for the time being, but he wasn't willing to stay to find out how long it would be until the mob arrived.

Despite there being no one else around, out of habit he stayed to the shadows, effortlessly avoiding the light from the braziers and lampposts. He couldn't help but smirk in amusement when he saw that the girl trailing him was doing the same, or was at least trying to. Her varnished dress shoes prevented any sort of agility beyond trotting whatsoever, to say nothing of the deafening noise they made with each of her tentative steps.

He felt her quizzical gaze on him as he knelt to run his hands along a row of bricks on the bottom of the tower wall. He slipped his finger into the barely perceptible hole in the mortar and flipped the switch on the other side. Metal scraped against metal as the clips bracing the stone panel shifted and the barrier came loose. With a firm push, the section of stones just large enough for Garrett to crawl through gave way. Garrett pushed the barrier inwards and to the side, then entered the hole.

Isabella creased her brows, standing still with an arm raised to her face in an attempt to block out the smothering smoke. She glanced briefly around the square, shifting from foot to foot. Her obvious apprehension was so clear that it was almost tangible.

"I'd assume that someone with malicious intent wouldn't go through the trouble of saving his victim from a prolonged and brutal death," he said flatly before righting himself inside the tower. "But I'm not going to stop you if you'd rather take your chances out there."

"N-no! I didn't assume… I wasn't worried that you would… I-I am grateful for what you did," she stammered. He heard a small sigh, then a sharp inhale as she lowered herself to the ground and pushed herself awkwardly through the aperture.

Upon hearing a small tear as the soft fabric of her dress caught on the rough stone, Garrett hesitantly turned around and offered her his hand. She nodded up at him curtly before averting her gaze to the ground and placing her hand in his. He reached down to quickly free the rich fabric from the rough grittiness of the rocky surface before pulling her to her feet.

"Thank you, " she said. She gently grasped his arm when he began to turn away. "I mean that for everything. I would have died if you hadn't been there earlier tonight."

Garrett glanced quickly at her hand. He felt the warmth from it seep through the leather gauntlet and onto his skin. She retracted her hand quickly when she noticed him staring at it. He hoped that she would take that as a sign to not touch him anymore.

He sidestepped the curious girl to replace the panel in the wall and reset the braces holding it in place. The comforting click of the switch ensured that the entrance to the City was sealed; it was nearly impossible that anyone would accidentally stumble upon the hidden entrance.

Though the air was much clearer inside the tower than outside, it was still musty from a lack of ventilation. This part of the tower obviously hadn't been touched in years. A thick layer of dirt coated the ground, and the rusted debris scattered about from the old clock mechanism was covered in dust. He crossed the small distance to the stairs, the dirt scraping softly against the stone floor with each step.

Upon looking behind him to see if the girl was following, Garrett saw that she barely paid heed to her ripped dress or the dirt streaked across her pale face and hands. That was a first for someone like her.

Garrett ascended the first flight of stairs, the rotten wood creaking perilously under his feet. He gestured to Isabella to keep a few paces behind him. He hadn't used these steps in a while and wasn't entirely sure that they could support both his and her weight. On the second platform, a rat skittered in between his feet and towards the soiled dress shoes behind him. Silence fell, broken only by the faint pattering noise of the rodent scurrying across the floor.

"You're not afraid of them?" He inquired quietly.

She paused for a moment before answering. "People only fear what they find repulsive or threatening. Why should I assume that this little fellow is either when I hardly know him? He's just different, that's all."

He grunted softly in response. Whoever the girl was, she definitely did not belong in a place like the City.

Several more flights up, Garrett heard her footsteps begin to slow. She stopped altogether and hung her head while she panted. "I don't mean to be rude, but… are we nearly there? I'm afraid my legs can't take… much more climbing," she said in between breaths.

Garrett looked over his shoulder at her, his brow creased. They had barely mounted four sets of stairs, perhaps fifty steps at most. She caught sight of his judgmental stare and averted her gaze, a shamed blush creeping across her face.

"Well, it's not exactly as if I have many opportunities to exercise. My father is, or rather was, quite protective of me at times." She swallowed thickly, then lightened her tone. "Do you have a family somewhere out there?"

Growing uneasy about the sense of familiarity the girl had taken with him, Garrett remained silent. Thankfully, she seemed to sense his uneasiness and changed the subject.

"Oh, that's magnificent…" she exclaimed as she raised her head and caught sight of the grand internal workings of the clock. "I'd always assumed - foolishly, I admit - that the city's clock was haunted. People would tell stories - all varying in detail, mind you - about the ghost of the clock tower. One man I met claimed that the spirit of a deceased, old mechanic that used to tend to the clock roams the tower and will continue for all of eternity to keep the clock running. Another told me that inside lives a monstrous but cunning man who lurks in the shadows and uses his wit to lure children out of their homes at night. He'd enslave those poor children and make them run the clock."

"It's ludicrous, isn't it?" She tittered at the recollection. "Though, I suppose the story isn't completely wrong."

Garrett turned his head a fraction, trying to determine whether or not her remark was meant as an insult.

"I didn't mean to say that you are a monster, or abduct and enslave children! I-I just meant that you are living in this tower, and you do have a tendency to stay hidden in the shadows. Well, except for a few nights back in my father's house."

Their brief repose from the mayhem of the riot was interrupted by the piercing noise of glass shattering. Having quickened his pace, Garrett reached the uppermost level of the clock tower in mere seconds. He rushed to the broken facing of the clock.

Shards of glass lay sprinkled across the wooden floor, twinkling as they reflected both the bright light of the nearly full moon and the blazing fires. Someone had clearly gotten ahold of a crossbow. The accompanying steel bolt had landed metres away from the gaping hole. Considering the immense size of the clock's facing as well as its high location, though, the missing glass wouldn't be perceptible from the ground. Garrett nevertheless resolved to fix it when he had the time.

Laboured breathing signaled his follower's approach as she finally caught up to him. He sighed, ignoring her questions of whether he was alright or not, and crossed the room slowly to his bed. With an exhausted exhale, he sat down on the mattress and forced himself to relax into the bed. He'd deal with the damage later; for the time being, he needed to figure out what he was going to do about the girl standing a few paces away and looking to him as though he were her only chance of survival. Perhaps he was.

Wanting severely to remove his mask reeking of smoke but hesitant because of the girl's being there, Garrett clenched and unclenched his fists. Her presence was almost intolerable. With a jolt, he was suddenly reminded of another intolerable presence who had a knack of getting into trouble.

"You can sleep here," he said as he rose from the bed.

"What about you? Where will you sleep?" She asked.

"I have some matters to attend to."

Her brow furrowed and her head tilted. "You're leaving? You're actually going out there again?" She asked incredulously.

He strode past her, ignoring the hand that she was about to extend to stop him but instead retracted as he angled his body away from her. He wondered what gave her the compelling need to touch other people so much.

"I'll be back soon," he said curtly as he swept his legs through the window.

Clearly at a loss for words, her face relaxed and she stood silently in tacit acceptance.

Garrett pushed off of the windowsill with one hand, then with a swish of his cape disappeared into the chaos below. 


	11. Chapter 10

The sombre evening draped soft shadows on the rough edges of ruin and havoc. Rain beat in flurries about the city, only to disappear as the delicate droplets touched the scorching flames of the ever ongoing fires.

Garrett glided through the dark refuge the rooftops provided. Only elevation separated this serene, unperturbed world from the raging one below. The two would have been completely separate if not for the corpses that were strung up from the railings and left to dangle obscenely, thumping softly against the wood.

The crates that had normally allowed for a means of descending the balcony were gone, instead stacked under the railings to be used to hang more corpses. Garrett turned around and crouched with his hands planted firmly on either side of his feet, then pushed up and jumped backwards. He quickly gripped the edge of the platform as he let his body fall over the edge. At a safe distance from the ground now, he let himself drop onto the cobblestone road.

The fall wasn't crippling, but he still felt a sharp tingling pain in his ankles. Quickly recovering himself, Garrett opened the wooden gates behind The Crippled Burrick. It didn't appear as though the crowds had touched the place, but he supposed that that made sense; the only people who ever set foot there were those who didn't have two coins to rub together.

Garrett walked to Basso's window, glad to see the flickering candlelight seeping out into the dark alley. He was about to jump through the opening when he heard approaching footsteps. He turned his head to glance at the man exiting the door. A worn black hat was tipped down to cover most of his face and a beige overcoat wrapped around his torso. Both his clothing and hastiness gave him the impression of someone who didn't wish to be noticed or stopped.

The man turned a corner, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared. Garrett narrowed his eyes at the strange sight, but dismissed it. Basso did, after all, deal in a shady business. Strange, secretive men were commonplace in this area.

Basso was busying himself with a coin purse in front of his desk when Garrett entered, mumbling faintly to the magpie burying its beak into its wings as he counted the coins.

"Who was your friend?" Garrett asked as he propped himself gently against a pillar of decaying wood.

"Geez, Garrett! Nearly made my heart stop," Basso exclaimed as he turned around to face the man lurking in the shadows.

"And if you need to know, that was the rather generous client who wanted the scripture. Speaking of, here's your cut." Basso fished out a handful of golden coins from the velvet pouch in his hand. He counted them briefly before handing them over.

Garrett accepted them with an appreciative nod and pocketed his payment. "I'm guessing you haven't been on any evening strolls lately."

"What, you mean with the uproar in the streets? Nah." He turned around and waved his hands dismissively in the air. "And you know what? Fuck them. Serves those pompous sons of bitches right."

Garrett smirked as Basso turned his back to him; he was glad to see him well and unharmed. Exhausted, he righted himself and made to leave the dank room. The thought of finally sleeping after what felt like days was barely enough to urge his tired limbs to move. With a twinge of annoyance, he remembered that he would have to make do without a bed.

"Oh, okay. Just leave without another word," came a half-serious offended remark. "It's not like I wanted to have a decent conversation or anything."

"I always thought that was what Jenivere was for," Garrett quipped before hopping through the window. The shadow of a smile flickered across his face as he heard Basso's amused chuckle behind him.

 


	12. Chapter 11

When he returned to the tower, Garrett was none too surprised to see Isabella sitting erectly on the edge of his bed. Her spine was an iron rod, straight and unwavering as she sat with her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes darted about the room anxiously and she began fiddling with the creases of her dress.

Garrett swung through the window, keeping to the shadows as he approached the girl. She was still unaware of his presence, though he was only a few paces in front of her. He shifted slightly to the right to catch a glimpse of the moon outside, unsure of what else to do.

"Your eye." The dulcet voice rang out against the raucous clamour from below. "The right one. Why is it… glowing?"

He turned his head toward her. She studied his face intently but didn't appear to be frightened or even astonished. It was as though she were testing his character more than she was inquiring about his unusual eye. He shifted his gaze back to the window.

"It's a long story." He deliberately kept his response as terse and vague as he could.

Garrett walked to the cracked mirror by the bed. Angling his face away, he pulled the cloth mask from his face and took a deep breath. He bent over the basin and splashed his face with the cool water. The soot and dirt that had collected on his face throughout the night sullied the clear water, turning it murky brown in colour.

No sooner had he wiped his face dry with a loose cloth than she rose from the bed to approach him. Garrett quickly raised the mask over his nose again before she could come any closer.

"Why do you always wear that mask?" Her wandering eyes followed him as he brushed past her. She turned around to follow him.  _Clearly_ , Garrett mused,  _the girl knows nothing about the meaning of privacy_.

"The same reason anyone else would," he replied with a tilt of his head.

She had finally ceased following him, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the wooden railing instead. "You do know that half the town already knows who you are." She flashed him a teasing smile. "You are, after all, the public's 'number one enemy.' At least, that's what all the papers say."

"And because the papers are sanctioned by the Baron, that means they're true."

The girl laughed wryly. "I never said that. Believe me, I am aware of Elias' rather unorthodox approach to governing the City."

Garrett remained silent. He considered pointing out the fact that despite her awareness she had still lived raised on her pedestal of wealth amongst beggars and thieves, but decided against it. It wasn't his business or of benefit to invest himself further in anyone else's affairs — that is, unless some form of payment was involved. And there was nothing of value that this girl could possibly give him now.

He apparently didn't need to say anything, for she turned to face him and cocked her head to the side. "I can tell you want to say something. If you want to, just say it."

Garrett sighed as he stepped toward the window. He didn't have the time or energy to deal with her. He focused instead on the commotion below. Given the tower's height, he could only barely make out faces in the crowd.

"You saved my life; I'm in no position to be incensed by whatever it is that…" Her words became muffled to Garrett's ears as he peered out the window. Something had caught his attention.

Amidst the mayhem below, a pale face stood out from the crowd. He immediately recognized the dark, stormy eyes, the shortly cropped hair, the unmitigated resentment that hardened her face and deadened her soul. That was no spectral image, it was her. It was unmistakably Erin.

* * *

"Are you okay? Is something the matter?"

The world around him abruptly came into focus again the second he blinked. The figure was gone. She was gone. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. After squeezing his eyes shut briefly, he pushed himself away from the windowsill. The abrupt movement startled Isabella, who had been inching closer to him in her concern.

"Wait here," he said as he swung his lithe body out the window.

"You're leaving again? What's wrong?" Her questions were left unanswered. He barely heard her voice, already slinking across the rooftops a story below.

Hidden in the dark, Garrett scanned the square for Erin. He was met only with the rioters, who were clouded by rage and indignation. He was about to dismiss his search, convincing himself that he was seeing things, when he saw a flash of white cloth out of the corner of his eye. It disappeared around a corner and he surged forward, immediately giving chase.

Leaping across rooftops and ignoring various cries of distress and terror, he followed the withdrawing figure. No matter how fast he ran, though, he would only catch glimpses of the dress turning a corner. By the third turn, he realized where she was leading him. They were going back to the Northcrest Manor.

The sound of a familiar clunky gait caught his attention. He whipped his head around to catch sight of the girl, who had — unsurprisingly, Garrett thought — followed him outside. She searched the rooftops, locking eyes with him when she saw him. Her brows knitted together in confusion. She clearly sought some form of explanation from him, but this situation was one he neither had time nor wanted to explain.

With a sharp exhale, he turned his back on her. She would have to find her own way through the City; he couldn't lose track of Erin this time. Besides, she had followed him thus far without getting caught; she would most likely be able to make it back to the clock tower on her own safely as well.

His boots barely made a sound as he bounded across the rooftop's shingles, which were slick from the rain. He kept his breathing as steady as he could, determined to catch up to her. He made a final turn, then hopped over a ledge and braced himself for the short drop that followed. The fall brought him directly above the balcony where Isabella had been held at knifepoint, where he he had shot Gil.

"What are you trying to tell me, Erin?" He whispered quietly to the empty garden. Erin was nowhere to be found.

A glint of the lamplight brought his gaze to the veranda. Nothing but shards of shattered, glittering glass and a pool of sticky, congealed blood covered the floor. Gil's corpse was gone.

His chest heaving lightly from the exertion of the chase, Garrett leaned back on his heels as he sighed. The situation was becoming far too strange and unsettling for his liking.

 


	13. Chapter 12

In the slanting shadows of the receding darkness, Garrett stole through the small hours before dawn. A rosy tinge was just barely perceptible through the perpetual grey veil blotting out the reaching rays of the sun. The elusive light didn’t dare illuminate the horrors of the City - much less its graveyards, which were shrouded in a hazy storm of the souls of the dead. 

It was here that Garrett found himself, reeking of smoke, limbs protesting in sharp pain after having been exercised so relentlessly, walking down the familiar path engraved permanently in his mind and breathing in the putrid air to which his lungs had become inveterately accustomed. It was here that Garrett sought the closest thing to solace available. 

The road to the Queen of Beggars was oddly empty. The vagrants that usually lined the street were gone. In the braziers dotting the street, dying embers flickered desperately in the last licks of fire. 

Garrett continued down the street, his feet padding soundlessly against the chipped stones lining the path. His boot tread on something slippery, and he looked down to find droplets of blood staining stone. Bending down, he swiped his index finger across the sticky surface and rubbed his thumb against the pad of his finger. It was still wet. He looked up. The blood left a trail that appeared to have come from farther down the path leading to the abandoned chapel. He broke into a sprint, reaching the decrepit edifice within seconds. 

He narrowly avoided tripping over the first corpse at the last minute, nimbly sidestepping the bloodied husk of a man lying prone in the grass. To his immediate right, another lifeless body lay spread-eagled on the ground. Two crimson gashes ran violently down the length of his back, exposed by the gaping tears in his shirt. Garrett swatted a fly away from his face before continuing. 

Keeping to the shadows, he bent his knees slightly, preparing for a quick escape if necessary. With each tentative step, his heart thrummed louder and louder in his ears. The thrill of the suspense almost matched the horror of his surroundings. He passed by more corpses, each bearing the same fatal marks. At last, he turned the corner and descended the stairs. 

Droplets of blood were splattered across the floor in the manner of a macabre mockery of artwork a foot in front of him, where the trail of gore stopped. A gasped groan turned his attention to the corner of the room. Garrett rushed to the man propped against the wall and clutching his mangled shoulder and chest. His eyes widened when he saw Garrett.

“P-please…” He groaned in pain. “Find… her,” he pleaded.

Garrett knelt down a few inches away from the figure. His eyes narrowed. “Who did this? Where did they take her?” 

“Oh, god… Oh, god, they k-killed everyone…” The man emitted a shuddering moan. 

“Who? Who did?” Garrett pressed. 

It was too late; the man had stilled. He was looking into dead eyes, the last flicker of life in them already extinguished. Garrett raised his hand lightly over the man’s face and drew his eyelids closed, then rose with a sigh. He padded back to the entrance, stepping over the shattered bone china teacup lying innocently on the grimy ground.


	14. Chapter 13

Dawn had already breathed faint wisps of colour into the bleak sky by the time Garrett emerged from the chapel. The sun now peaked over the horizon, casting its glimmering rays in between the sparse breaks in the clouds. The smoke had finally lifted, leaving the stale air a modicum more breathable.

Garrett took a deep breath before continuing onwards, ignoring the pools of blood caked on the ground. He came to an abrupt stop, glancing once more at the ground, the grass, and the blood - the sources of which were absent. Immediately, he broke into a crouched position and glided to cover behind a nearby bench. Cautiously peeking to the right, he caught a glimpse of a mangled body shuffling past the graveyard and around the corner.

 _Well, my search just became a lot easier_ , he thought to himself before pushing away from the bench and stalking the figure.

* * *

 They had followed routes previously unknown to Garrett, which he kept a mental note of along the way, and passed several scenes which Garrett could only describe as sermons. Masses of crowds stood in silence around the Graven men preaching of the supposed evils of the world on makeshift daises.

One such route overlooked the town square, where Garrett had witnessed the lining up of shaking people - no doubt the aristocratic - stripped naked before the gallows that only the past day executed common criminals. The jeering mass of thrusting fists had cheered as a noose was cast over each head and the bar pulled, plunging the bodies below the level of the flooring. They were still struggling desperately for footing when Garrett had looked away.

After having traveled halfway across the City, the corpses finally reached their destination. A safe few paces away, Garrett looked over the derelict warehouse they entered. He recognized the building. Once a profitable hatchery, the building now stood abandoned after an accidental fire had burned it down beyond repair sometime in the year Garrett had missed.

He briefly scanned what was left of the building. Pieces of burnt wood jutted out from one side of the hatchery. His eyes traced a path from the first protrusion to the open framework of the roof. Garrett strode to the wall. As he approached, he heard a familiar grating voice booming out. Safely in the shadows, he flattened himself against the wall just as a figure emerged to draw the creaky wooden doors closed. A fine dust of charcoal drifted down.

Turning his attention back to the wall, Garrett tentatively placed a foot on one of the wooden ridges and tested its strength. Satisfied that it would hold, he shifted his weight and immediately leaped off of his foot to the next ridge.

By the time his foot touched the last plank, he knew that it would give way. Surely enough, the scorched wood cracked with the slightest pressure. He instinctively grasped onto the splintered end of the plank, stifling a cry of pain as the sharp edges pierced the skin of his palm. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath before gripping the edge harder to pull himself up. When his knee was safely supported, he wrenched his hand free and plucked out the larger remaining splinters.

Cradling his injured hand, Garrett made his way to a steadier-looking beam overlooking the interior of the hatchery. No more than twenty feet below, a group of thuggish men wielding weapons varying from daggers and swords to crossbows - all stolen from the City Watch - stood guard. The bloodied corpses from the graveyard stood facing away from him in front of the doors. In the middle of the warehouse, between the charred shallow barrels lining the floor, stood Gil. He held against him the Queen of Beggars, who stood composedly in his grasp.

One of the burlier men approached them. "No'ne 'ere, boss. You sure 'e'll come?"

"Oh, of that I am certain." His voice was noticeably raspy and strained. "Not even he would leave an old, defenseless woman to be killed."

If the Queen felt any fear, her voice did not betray it. "Your underestimation of him will only lead to your downfall. He is more clever than you give him credit for."

Gil laughed, which sounded to Garrett more like the croaking of a dying old man than a laugh. "You underestimate _me_ , my Queen. If you could only feel the power coursing through my veins-"

"I would never wish for my greatest adversary to be the abomination that you are." Her retort seeped with disgust.

Gil quieted, then unsheathed his dagger and drew its blade in front of her face.

"Careful now, my Queen." His voice barely raised above a whisper.

In anticipation of a swift takedown, Garrett shifted on his heels. The movement made a sound that Garrett could only scarcely hear, but Gil's head immediately whipped upwards. Garrett felt his blood run cold at the sight before him. Staring up at him were two brightly glowing eyes which illuminated the unnatural pallor of his face.

"Ah, our intrepid hero. Here to save grandmother dearest, are you? Where's your noble-born mistress gone?" He whistled and turned his head towards the thugs.

Garrett leapt out of the way a fraction of a second too late. The bolt grazed his shoulder, knocking him off balance and loosening his grip from the beam. He braced his body for the drop and rolled to the side upon impact, saving himself from further injury. Adrenaline pumped through his blood, thankfully rendering the pain in Garrett's hand and shoulder virtually unnoticeable. He pushed himself to his feet and dashed to the nearest crate.

"Now, there's no need to hide. I'm a civilized man. Come out and talk."

Garrett glanced from behind the crate. He had counted seven men in the warehouse, excluding the four creatures guarding the door. Only two were within his range of sight. For all he knew, the others could have a clear shot of him. The odds were not in his favour.

"I won't bite. I only ask for your... assistance in performing a certain task. Help me, and I'll release your beloved Queen."

After running various scenarios in his head, all of which ended in disaster, Garrett was at a loss. He was a sitting duck in this position, unable to do anything but wait for an opportunity to arise. He couldn't risk creating a distraction or fleeing with the Queen of Beggars under Gil's blade.

"Or, you could let her die. I really wouldn't mind feasting on an extra corpse tonight."

Reluctantly, Garrett pushed himself upright and stepped out of the shadows.

"Let her go," he growled.

"There he is. I knew you would listen to reason." Gil turned his glowing eyes towards Garrett. "I assume you've seen the cleansing of our new City? Beautiful, is it not?

"What do you want from me?" Garrett took slow steps forward, keeping in mind that a moving target was harder to hit than a still one.

Gil raised the hand holding his dagger warningly. "That's close enough. And what I want from you, Master Thief, is your cooperation. Your submission, if you will."

"Tell your men to lower their weapons, and I'll consider it." Garrett tilted his head towards the archers to his right.

A moment passed, then Gil motioned to the men. "A fair request. Now, back to business."

He cleared his throat before continuing. "As I'm sure you're well aware, you have in you a particularly special artifact. In fact, I can see it now." His gaze drifted towards Garrett's right eye. "We've been after that for quite a while now. What you possess is invaluable."

"So you're asking me to hand over my eye and seal the deal, simple as that?"

Gil chuckled. "Ah, he has a sense of humour. And yes, simple as that."

"Leave me, Garrett. You know what you must do!" The Queen cried out.

Gil pressed the blade to her throat. "Hush, hush, my dear. Let the men talk." He turned his attention back to Garrett. "Now Garrett, I must add that this deal will not stand for very long. I need an answer now." 

Garrett shifted on his feet, desperately trying to conjure up a solution. He knew that he wouldn't be able to draw an arrow halfway before the archers would shoot him or, worse, Gil would slice the Queen's throat. After what felt like only a second passed, Garrett heard Gil sigh.

"Well, I was really just trying to be nice. I suppose I'll have to get ahold of that shard the hard way. Your time's up." Gil grabbed a handful of the Queen's hair in an iron grip and pulled her head back.

"No!"

Garrett stood rooted to the ground, the weight crushing his chest preventing any movement, as he watched the blade dance across her neck, leaving a crimson spray in its wake. She reached out a shaky hand towards him, a silent cry of horror on her face, before dropping limply to the ground.

A smile oozing with sadistic pleasure and cold indifference more like a beast's than any man's twisted Gil's features. He twirled the dripping dagger between his fingers and wiped it on a dirty rag with practiced ease before sheathing it in a strap against his chest.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He called out jovially to the guards. "Kill him. And bring me back an eye."

Unbeknownst to any of them, a shadowy figure stood watching from above, vigilantly observing the scene before her with keen eyes. Once she had mapped out every exit and enemy, she wrapped her fingers around a cool steel handle. It was time to put her plan into action.


	15. Chapter 14

The man closest to Garrett hadn’t even taken two steps before he collapsed on the ground. Garrett caught a glimpse of a throwing knife as it whirled through the air within an inch from his face and hit its target squarely in the middle of his sinewy neck. The brute grasped at the blade to pull it out, only succeeding in increasing the flow of blood streaming from his paling skin. Within seconds, two more blades followed in quick succession. Each downed another target with deadly precision. The remaining ones aimed their crossbows aimlessly at dancing shadows. 

Garrett traced the paths of the blades back to the beam from which he had fallen just moments ago. A female figure clad head to toe in black stood against the soft light streaming through the open roof. A headscarf and mask covered her face, and a leather ensemble hugged her slight frame. She hopped with expert agility to the next beam before dropping out of sight behind a vat. A strangled cry of surprise sounded a second later.

 _Four down, three more to go_. He counted off the men in his head. 

A rumbling growl that reverberated deep in his chest snapped Garrett’s attention back to the centre of the room. His gaze shifted past the blank gaze of the body on the ground to the monstrosity of a man in front of him. Fiery hatred momentarily abated at the sight before him. Gil clenched his fists and cried out in pain as he doubled over. Limbs thrashed. The sickening sound of cracking bone echoed sharply throughout the room as his spine cracked and expanded. Cloth ripped as bone grew and curved. His hands contorted, fingers fusing into elongated talons nearly a foot long. Pale skin blistered and stretched to make room for his horrifically enlarged frame. By the time the mutation had completed, Garrett only recognized the creature before him by its glowing eyes - which remained unsettlingly unchanged.

It turned its head too far to be considered normal to face Garrett, its bright eyes more menacing than before against the disfigured visage. 

On an instinct, Garrett immediately darted to the entrance. He didn’t have to look back to know that the monster was at his heels. He could hear its growls as if it were breathing into his ears, could feel its icy breath permeating the sweat-soaked layers of cloth and leather wrapped around his torso. After dodging a few clumsy swings from the panicked men running amok, Garrett closed the gap between the rows of cisterns and the entrance. He rammed his uninjured shoulder into the door. Thankfully, the rotten wood gave way easily. He burst out of the hatchery and to the pier.

The woman had also apparently had escape in mind. The four mangled corpses that guarded the door now lay unmoving at Garrett’s feet. Each of their heads was bashed in. The method of approach brought to mind another aggressive thief he knew. 

A flash of movement caught his eye. He looked to the houses across the pier. The woman had already made her way across the docks. She was halfway up a building, scaling it with a speed that rivaled Garrett’s. Without ever turning to look back, she swung herself over the other side of the rooftops before disappearing from sight. Garrett broke into a run after her, every intent on finally putting an end to the tiresome game of cat and mouse. Enough was enough. 

The ragged breaths behind him spurred him onwards. He leapt from the dock to the stone stairs leading to the street just as a claw reached out to swipe at him. Razor-sharp talons caught on his cape before tearing it, the resistance effectively shortening his jump. Garrett’s hands flew in front of him to catch the edge of the dock. He pulled himself up and melded seamlessly back into a sprint. Keenly aware of beast who had made the same jump effortlessly behind him, he quickened his pace.

Garrett ascended the stone steps leading to the main street and crossed the wide stone road. Following the woman’s path, Garrett grabbed hold of the awning above the door. He climbed the facade of the building, the jutting windowpanes providing sturdy footing for him. By some miracle, the strength of his injured arm did not falter in the slightest. Still slower than he would have liked to, Garrett reached the roof and hauled himself up. He glanced over his shoulder at his pursuer. To his relief, the creature paced and roared at him from three stories below. It didn’t seem intent on following him; judging by its massive frame, Garrett doubted that it could have. With a feral snarl it backed away and abruptly raced out of sight, though not before its piercing eyes burned themselves in his retinas.

Focused solely on his pursuit, he turned around and paused to scan the rooftops. The roofs were empty, as were the streets below. He was chasing someone who clearly knew the City like the back of her hand. Finding her would be nearly impossibly, especially with the head start she had gotten. Garrett exhaled in frustration and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a quick swipe of his hand, cursing inwardly at himself.

He had lost her yet again. 

The thrill of the chase was now all but gone. The blood racing through his veins now throbbed painfully around broken skin and capillaries. He raised shaking hands in front of him to inspect. Thin trickles of blood ran down in smeared streaks down the palm of his right hand, though what concerned him more were the tiny splinters embedded in his hand. He prodded his palm, hissing as the contact elicited a sharp pain from his tender skin. Twisting his arm, he glanced at the tear in his sleeve. The bolt had only grazed his shoulder. He would be able to mend the wound without much of a problem.

The physical pain barely bothered him. It was the pain that no amount of time or medicine could heal, that tightened his chest unbearably and evoked a dull ache in his heart, that he was not sure he could handle. The Queen of Beggars was dead. The list of people with whom he shared a mutual respect seemed to be growing shorter day by day. 

There was only one other person he could consult now. 


	16. Chapter 15

Numb limbs brought Garrett down paths he didn't remember taking, through buildings he didn't remember entering. After having grown accustomed to the clamour of anguished sobs, piercing screams and mayhem of the previous night, the silence that daylight bred brought unease rather than relief to Garrett. The City wasn't a bustling hub of trade and travel, but it was never this quiet.

The last licks of the fire burned feebly as blackened wood crumbled into piles of ash. Garrett had to turn his head away when a warm breeze swept the grit up to his face.

His gaze landed on a bisque doll resting atop the burned wreckage. Its lace dress was scorched and its milky white face was marred by fine cracks, but it was otherwise intact. He averted his eyes when he saw the still, tiny hand grasping its leg from beneath the ruins.

The crowds had cleared, but every so often Garrett would take cover when he heard heavy footfalls approaching. The Graven had stolen the City Watch uniforms from the guards, but had marked the backs with a cross painted in blood-red paint, or perhaps blood - he wouldn't put using the blood of their dead enemies beneath people as enraged and antagonized as they were.

When the guards had passed, Garrett closed the gap between the dangerously lit road and the safe confines of the shadows. The Graven had congregated in the aristocratic district, leaving the slums almost devoid of the fanatics. Garrett sighed and righted himself as he reached the entrance to Black Alley, groaning as the movement drew more blood from the wound in his shoulder. He pushed open the wooden doors with his uninjured palm, then descended the steps into Basso's workplace.

Thankfully, Basso was alone. He raised himself from his desk when he saw who had entered.

"Shit, Garrett!" Basso scanned the room. He rushed to grab a nearby chair, which Garrett more than willingly let his exhausted body collapse onto.

"You okay? What the hell happened to you?"

Garrett grunted as he shifted in his seat, replying with a gruff "I'm fine" before accepting a dirty rag. He clamped it down over his shoulder to staunch the blood flow, then turned his head towards Basso. The man's features softened when he realized that his friend was relatively unharmed.

"Basso, there's something you should know."

"Oh? Is it why you look worse than Stewart when he fell out the second floor window of the Siren?" Basso chuckled to himself at the recollection.

Garrett sighed at the man's lack of understanding. "She's dead, Basso."

Any trace of a smile crinkling the features of his face vanished as his eyes met Garrett's. "You don't mean - Not…"

Garrett looked away to give Basso some privacy while he processed the news. He heard him softly mutter a curse under his breath and exhale sharply as he ran a hand over his face. "Who did it?"

"You've heard word of the City's rising revolutionist by now." Garrett glanced in Basso's direction again. Realization slowly dawned as anger replaced despair.

"Of course." Basso forced out a laugh as he slammed the coin purse he had been holding onto his desk, then sat down in an empty chair. "Should've known. Only a twisted fuck like that would murder an innocent woman." 

"Would murder innocent children," Garrett added, a trace of venom piercing his normally detached tone.

The two sat in silence for a spell, neither attempting to say anything to the other. There were no words that could ease the situation in the slightest. Outside, those oblivious to the loss cheered and sang drunkenly of the fallen rich who were put in their place by the Red Rebellion. Garrett clenched his teeth as they praised its mighty, righteous leader.

As if spurred into action by the lyrics, Basso abruptly sat up and stomped to a darkened corner of the room. He rummaged through some boxes before bringing out a dusty bottle and two mugs from a cupboard. He popped open the cork and sloshed generous portions of the burgundy liquid into the mugs. He handed one to Garrett and raised his own.

"To the Queen of Beggars," he said in a composed, strong voice. "The most respected woman in the City. To a person who actually gave a shit about others and was willing to do something about it."

Garrett took a swig of the wine, then placed the cup gently onto the floor. He wasn't surprised to see Basso out of the corner of his eye, already reaching for the bottle again. With a pained groan, he raised himself on shaky legs and trudged to the door. At the moment, the need for sleep was blissfully distracting. The only thing on his mind was finally getting some rest. The thought stopped him in his tracks.

"Basso," Garrett turned to face the now intoxicated man. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone who would be able to take in a girl, would you?"

Intrigued, Basso leaned against the desk. "Depends. Who're we talking 'bout here? Criminal? Orphan? Whore?"

"No, nothing like that. She's a noble."

Basso let out a laugh of disbelief. "You're not serious, are you? Since when do you care about the nobles of the city? Or anyone, for that matter?"

"I don't. We crossed paths - " Garrett paused, "incidentally in the chaos last night. She's stuck in the Tower until I can find a safe place to send her off to."

Basso chuckled softly, looking over at Garrett with a twinkle in his eye, then took another gulp of wine from his mug. "I'll keep my eyes and ears open. Jenivere'll let you know if I find someone."

Garrett nodded in appreciation before turning back to the door.

"Hey, Garrett," Basso called back. "Guess it wasn't wishful thinking."

He gave Basso a questioning look before the man continued. "You are capable of using the front door after all."


	17. Chapter 16

The first thing he heard when he entered his sanctuary was the soft, rhythmic clinking of the large metal gears which occupied the inner structure of the tower. At that moment, the memories of the dreadful morning that had plagued his mind - the Queen's shaking hand reaching out to him, the blood spraying across the floor, the horrific creatures rising from the dead - dissipated. With the realization that he was safe here, he let his mind clear with each steady tick of the clock's giant mechanism.

Garrett stopped at the small landing, feeling a wave of nausea hit him after having forced his exhausted and brutalized body up the stairs. It had been two days since he had last slept, and the lack of rest was taking its toll on him. He waited for his breathing to slow, letting his gaze drift upward to the soft light bleeding in through the opaque glass facing of the clock. The rays were brightest where it streamed in through the jagged chink from the previous night. Garrett had to look away, his eyes unused to such bright light. If this were any normal day he would already be asleep in his bed.

As his breathing quieted, his ears picked up gentle trickling sounds coming from above. He pressed onwards, ascending the next flight of steps with alarming difficulty. He glanced down at the rag wrapped tightly around his arm. It was soaked in blood and as he raised his arm the red deepened in colour. He began to suspect that he had underestimated the damage inflicted by the bolt.

When he reached the top level, his head was reeling and his footing was unsteady. Dismissing any worries - he had gone through worse and survived, after all - he stumbled to the heavy lacquered chest beside his bed.

"By the heavens," a soft voice exclaimed. Isabella stood to his right, wringing her wet hair out before rushing to him. He had almost forgotten about her again.

"Are you alright?" Isabella ran to his side, immediately taking hold of his injured arm.

Garrett tried to ignore her, but flinched as her delicate fingers wrapped themselves gently but firmly around his arm. He leaned away from her, trying feebly to evade her grasp. She hesitated a moment, then let go of him, much to Garrett's relief. He removed a small leather bag from the chest and poured its contents into his palm. Small glass pots of salves and oils fell out of the pouch. He set the pot containing a ruddy paste on the lid of the chest. When he did, she cleared her throat.

"No, you - um… you don't want that one," she said in a small voice.

He halted, slightly irked by the girl's tentative but nonetheless offensive remark. He knew what he was doing; he'd been taught well and had been healing himself on his own for a long time.

"I'm pretty certain I do," he replied dryly. "I'll do this myself."

"But that's, um, that's frankincense oil and… saffron, is it not?"

She inched closer to him, muttering a quiet apology, and studied the salves in his hand. Her eyes flitted over the various containers, studying each one briefly before moving on to the next. After a moment her eyes lit up with recognition and she plucked a single pot from his outstretched hand.

"What you want is this." She pried the metal lid off with deft fingers and sniffed the balm. "Myrrh resin. There's nothing wrong with using frankincense to treat an open wound, but myrrh is much more beneficial. It prevents infections from developing, and helps with the swelling around broken skin."

He let her take the rest of the salves from him, surprised by her extensive knowledge.

"And then there's yarrow - that's what gives this cream its nice aroma. This is what will stop the bleeding." She reached out to unwrap the rag covering his arm, but thought better of it and paused before she touched him. "I can help. I know what I'm doing." All timidness was gone. Confidence and hopefulness flashed in her eyes.

"Clearly." Garrett nodded, allowing her to treat him in part because he was impressed by her expertise but mostly because he wasn't sure he would be able to do it himself. He could barely keep his arm outstretched without tiring himself.

Pleased, she rushed to get the water basin and a clean cloth lying by his bed, then settled down beside him. After unwrapping his arm gently, she inspected the wound. She spent a good time studying the cut and the bloodied rag, muttering to herself under her breath all the while. Garrett looked with mild wonder at the girl before him. Engaged in her work, she was almost an entirely different person. The gentleness and poise was still there, but instead of meekness and hesitance she exuded assertiveness and a powerful presence.

"How long have you been bleeding?" She asked, her eyes still fixed on his wound.

"Longer than I should have." Garrett reached out to grasp the footboard of the bed, gritting his teeth as Isabella began to prod at his broken skin. He fought to keep himself upright as his head reeled.

"I suspected as much. Something isn't right. The cut is too shallow. The bleeding should have stopped long ago. It's as if-"

Her eye widened for a split second before she knit her brows together and dabbed her forefinger lightly on his arm. A small droplet of blood collected on the pad of her finger, which she raised to her lips. _Strange practise_ , Garrett thought to himself as he glanced sideways at her.

She coughed as soon as his blood touched her tongue. "As if you were poisoned," she sputtered.

Of course, how could he not have thought of that? _Leave it to the Graven to poison their weapons and plague the very place they claim to be purifying._

"I'm assuming it's not lethal, or we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Isabella let out a sigh and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "I can only guess that this is blackwood poisoning. The ingredients are common enough to acquire, easy enough to prepare. Not to mention it happens to be everyone's silent weapon of choice as of late. Not enough to kill, but enough to cripple. Enough to send a message…" she trailed off.

Garrett's eyes met hers in a questioning glance. The keenness which sharpened her gaze indicated a wisdom beyond her years, aged her beyond her late adolescence. It seemed eerily misplaced against the soft simplicity of her face. He stared a second longer than he should have, trying to decipher the enigma of the girl in front of him. She was innocent by nature, yet culpable by birthright; both child and adult; hopeful and enthusiastic in countenance but tinged with the slightest hint of melancholy and something else he couldn't pin down, something that suggested experience of some sort.

"You do me an injustice by believing I know _nothing_ of what is happening." She shifted to face him. "Do you think that just because I am wealthy I know nothing? That I care for none other than the rich? This is my city too. All of it. I am well aware of the struggles too many people must face. I am well aware of the poison leaching its way into this city's heart, waiting for the right moment to deliver the fatal strike." The intensity burning in her eyes vanished the moment she blinked, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

Garrett only averted his gaze, both too fatigued and too dazed to reply.

She returned to fixing his arm, rinsing off the dried blood with tepid water. "For obvious reasons, someone like me wouldn't stand a chance against them or make a difference in this new order. This new godforsaken world. I struggle to believe that there is someone who can or will, but I've been wrong before."

Her eyes flicked back up to his. Reflected in the dark brown of her glossy eyes, Garrett saw an all too familiar ghostly blue gleam.

The next minutes were spent in silence. The only noises came from the gentle splashing of water as Isabella wrung out the bloodied cloth in her hand. Now focused entirely on the injury, she finished washing away the crusted blood, rubbed stinging salve over the wound and wrapped his arm tightly in the cleanest cloth she had been able to gather. By the time she had finished, Garrett was struggling to remain conscious.

"Don't worry, you're not dying yet," she assured him.

He scoffed. "That's a comfort."

"It takes a while to leave your bloodstream. Give it time."

Her words were already becoming unintelligible and muffled to his hearing. He saw her hand reaching out to help him as he lowered himself to the ground. Unable to hold on any longer, he let his eyes droop shut.

Barely, he felt the almost imperceptible softness of her delicate skin as she lightly hooked a finger under his mask. With the last of the fleeting strength he could muster, he caught her arm in a tight cautionary grasp, eliciting a gasp from her. In defeat, she relinquished her hold on the cloth and drew her hand away from his face. The last thing he noticed before sinking into blissful unconsciousness at last was the loss of heat where her hand had nearly touched him.


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for the very protracted update. I'll be honest; I did have some school stuff but I was mostly just being lazy. I hope this chapter (which is lighter in tone than the previous ones) will make up for it. Enjoy :)

Garrett woke with a start, his eyes snapping open instantly. The room was shrouded in the velvety black cloak of night, much to his relief. The only source of light cast its gentle argent glimmers across the wooden flooring, allowing Garrett to make out the figure of a slight woman crouched over the water basin.

He groped at the thin fabric underneath him, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. His stirring caught the attention of the woman beside him, who gave him a small smile when she saw that he was awake.

"Are you feeling better?" She inquired, wringing out a clean cloth in her hands.

Garrett made to push himself up, but stopped abruptly when a stabbing pain tore through his arm. In an instant, Isabella was at his side. "No! Don't get up!"

"How long have I been out?" He groaned.

"Only a few days. Three at most." She gently eased him back down onto the tattered mattress. "You haven't moved an inch for days now. Your muscles need time to reacclimate to even the mildest of exercise."

He shrank away from her touch, then raised himself with his undamaged arm. "Believe me, I've gone longer without using them at all." His head throbbed as he sat up, but he ignored the mild discomfort. Tentatively, he placed his bare feet on the cold floor.

He paused for a moment. "You took off my boots?"

She gave a nervous laugh and cradled her hands. "My apologies, I thought you might be more comfortable without them."

Isabella stood in irritatingly close proximity to him, clear worry furrowing her delicate brows. She trailed a short distance behind him. Garrett resisted the urge to move out of her arms' reach. She had, after all, kept him alive for some time. He could grant her the small favour of allowing her to think that he needed or wanted her assistance.

"I suppose you don't need my help," she said as she backed away from him. Garrett sighed in relief.

"I'm fine." He turned towards the window. "Thank you." He didn't have to look back to know that she was smiling; he could practically feel the warmth of her happiness radiating off of her.

"You are most welcome, Master Thief."

It had been a while since someone had used the notorious moniker without malice, disdain or even a hint of brazen irony in their voice. It wasn't an unpleasant change, he thought to himself. Garrett immediately pushed the thought aside, moving steadily on shaking legs towards the cool night breeze.

Outside, all was silent. Above, the sky was almost clear. Beyond the wisps of grey cloud which swirled and billowed in the wind, the stars twinkled against a black silken backdrop. Below, not a single person person roamed the ash-lined streets. It was the perfect night.

"You aren't actually considering going out there again, are you?" She asked incredulously.

Something about her tone, which to him suggested ownership or a sense of intimacy, irked Garrett.

"What I have in mind is the last thing I'd like to be doing on a night like this," he said with a clenched jaw. By the look on her face, he could tell that his response had offended her. How very aristocratic of her, he thought to himself. Only the rich would huff if someone so much as glanced in their direction the wrong way.

"And what might that be?" A coolness stilted her words, but her face remained impassively collected.

Garrett paused, looking anywhere but in her direction, before he forced himself to continue. "This… arrangement isn't permanent, as I'm sure you've guessed by now."

The mask of indifference guarding her features faltered slightly. "Clearly," she spoke through taut lips. "Do you wish for me to leave now?"

A part of him was tempted to say yes, but he refrained. "You wouldn't last one night out there. It's dangerous for anyone to be out given the circumstances, let alone a noblewoman. You'd be hanged from the gallows if not trampled or stabbed to death first."

"Yes, I am rather well acquainted with the ruffians of the City." She dropped her facade of stoicism when she continued. "In all sincerity, I thank you once more for saving me. You had no reason to do so, and yet you still did."

Isabella's eyes crinkled slightly as a smile graced her face. "You know, you claimed before that you weren't a good person."

"I don't recall saying that," he said over his shoulder.

"Well, perhaps you didn't say it in those exact words, but you understand my point. Tell me - if that is true, why did you save me, on multiple occasions?"

Garrett could hear her walking towards him, just shy of a few paces away. He kept his gaze locked on the rooftops below, determined not to indulge the young woman in her childishly unwary tete-a-tete. She wasn't just treading on thin ice, she was stomping across it without any thought.

"How does saving the life of someone who doesn't deserve death make a person good? I did it out of mere obligation. Don't confuse that for actual concern. If it was your father up there instead of you, I wouldn't have interfered at all."

"He's not my -" She turned her face away, swallowing thickly before continuing. "And he is - was, a good man. Better than most people thought him to be."

Garrett caught sight of the glint of tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"But that's beside the point." She swiped her eyes swiftly with the back of her hand. "You may not consider yourself a good man, and perhaps you're right, but possessing a sense of 'mere obligation,' of the most basic level of humanity, marks the makings of one in my experience. It's just a pity such people are becoming less and less commonplace."

She padded beside him, resting her forearms on the windowsill. "Thus begins the death of altruism." She flashed a dim, hollow smile filled with all the regret and woe of the world. "That is, if it ever did exist at all."

A tentative silence crept upon them both, unrelentingly tense and pervasive. Finally, Garrett spoke.

"Everything else aside," he said with a sigh, "you'll still need to be able to live out there."

She glanced in his direction. "How do you propose I do that?"

"You'll need to live in the shadows, unnoticed and inconsequential as any other street urchin. You'll have to give up the name Isabella Northington, to start."

"Again," she interjected, "he wasn't my father, and I'm not a child. But I believe I'm beginning to see your point."

He straightened and began circling her. She remained as still as stone under his gaze, but her eyes followed his movements.

Without so much as a swish of his clothing, he extended a hand and reached for the clasp on her jewelled necklace with feather-light fingers. "Which means you won't be needing this."

Isabella gave a small cry of indignity when the necklace slipped off her neck.

"Consider this a small fee for my saving your life."

She scoffed. "Oh, so now I am under an obligation to you."

He shrugged, running a finger over the fine detailing of the golden chain and polished rubies, before pocketing the jewelry.

"Fair enough. But as I recall, I saved your life as well. A life for a life," she quipped.

Garrett rested his back against the wall. His limbs strained under his weight, but he would die before revealing any more of his weakness to her. "And as I recall, I saved your life - on multiple occasions."

She stared back at him with a quirk in her mouth before sighing in defeat. "Well never mind that trinket. It was only a gift from a rather affected suitor. I wouldn't be surprised if the necklace itself were a forgery."

"No, it's authentic," Garrett said as he recalled the weight and lustre of the chain and gems.

"Well, whatever the case, I assure you it is no great loss to me."

He suspected that she was telling the truth.

"The dress will have to go as well." He paused when he saw the look on her face. "I don't mean right now."

"Well, of course not." She averted her gaze, a hot blush creeping upon her cheeks.

With a small exclamation, she motioned for him to wait, then rushed down the stairs. He was tempted to follow her, but knew that his legs would fail him before the second flight. A moment later, she reappeared with a bundle of musty cloth in her arms.

"I was doing some exploring to pass the time while you were resting. I hope you don't mind."

His jaw clenched. He wondered whether this girl had any boundaries.

"Anyway, I stumbled across these old burlap dresses amidst a pile of gar-" She stopped, searching for the right word. "Of antiquities. They're terribly dusty and ragged, but –"

"They'll be perfect," he interrupted.

"Precisely what I was about to say."

An impish grin spread across her face. Garrett had a suspicion that she was enjoying the situation despite the obvious danger that came with it. Or perhaps, he thought, that was exactly what she enjoyed about it.

"If you give me a moment, I'll change into these."

Garrett turned back to the window as she began undressing, mildly surprised by the trust she held for him. Her life was ultimately in his hands, whether either of them willed it or not.

He let his gaze wander. Although he knew he would not see anyone, his eyes searched vaguely in the hopes of finding the elusive ghost of his past. He wondered briefly whether he had truly lost his mind; whether or not she was actually here in the City. Perhaps he himself was under the influence of the Gloom - or even the Primal. It wouldn't have been the first time that something of the like had happened to him.

A gentle clearing of the throat snapped him out of his thoughts and brought his attention back inside. Isabella stood rather comfortably in a plain threadbare dress, looking to him as if he were her only lifeline in the treacherous stretch of an endless sea.

"We start now," he said as he made his way carefully down the stairs, motioning for her to follow.

Had he kept his gaze on the streets a moment longer, he would have caught sight of a pair of gleaming eyes blazing up at him from below for a split second before they disappeared into darkness once more.


	19. Chapter 18

"Again," he ordered, leaning against the cold brick wall and peering through the darkness at the fumbling hands struggling to pick a basic brass lock. "And try not to alert everyone on the street of our presence this time."

Isabella huffed indignantly and set the picks down, massaging her cramped hands. "Perhaps if my teacher would offer more of his expertise, I would be making some progress. And I wasn't that loud."

"Anyone would be able to hear that clinking a mile away." Garrett motioned for her to move aside. He kneeled by the door and withdrew his own set of picks. His fingers lay familiarly on the smooth handles as he slid the thin metal shafts deftly into the keyhole.

"You're still applying too much pressure. That's why your hand is sore. Remember, light touch." He leaned to the side so she could see his hands better. "Tension wrench in the base, lock pick above. Side of finger and thumb holding the wrench, other thumb and forefinger on the pick. Short, even strokes until there's no resistance, then set the pin. Repeat until the lock turns."

Even after having demonstrated slowly, Garrett could see that his protégé was still struggling. She shouldn't have been; by this point, it was almost as if she was failing on purpose. Two weeks had passed. Each night, he had taken her to a different part of the City to practice what would surely become a skill essential to her survival. Each night, she had progressed about as much as if she had a half-witted opium addict for a teacher. He had to see improvement, if not for her sake then for his own dignity.

"You're going too fast. How am I to keep a light touch if the pins are so heavy? They barely lift when I use all the strength in my fingers." She stretched out her aching hand for emphasis.

He sighed. "They only feel heavy because you're pressing on the wrench. They'll be easier to lift when you relax your other hand. Again."

She picked up the tools again and, mumbling encouragingly to herself - which he couldn't help but find mildly amusing - set to unlocking the door of the abandoned store.

Garrett had chosen the area carefully; he had to ensure no one would interrupt their lesson. The sector was rarely visited by anyone, for even those who lived in the shadows feared to tread in the abandoned ghost of a neighbourhood. Garrett himself scarcely passed through the empty streets, though more out of disinterest than fear. To her credit, Isabella had proven at the very least adequate in moving about unseen and blending in with a crowd unnoticed. When it came to lock picking, though, she was a lost cause.

"Aha!" Her cry of triumph echoed down the street.

He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn't even heard her set the pins successfully. Isabella beamed with satisfaction as she turned the lock and pushed the door open. She looked to him as if expecting some kind of praise but he only swept past her, not even bothering to look in her direction.

Any trace of disappointment on her face was replaced by fascination as she followed him into the building. "Oh, this is amazing," she breathed.

Garrett himself took a minute to take in the sight before them. The exterior of the building was misleading, to say the least. Though faded and weather-eroded on the outside, the interior remained almost untouched. Bursts of deep, rich colours decorated the walls and floors in lavish carpets and lush curtains. On the shelves lay piles of neatly arranged hats and in the polished display cases, rows of fur-lined leather gloves.

What interested him far more, though, were the sparkling jewels in the far end of the room. He ducked underneath the counter and reached out with an eager hand for the jewelry cases.

"Wait," she whispered.

Garrett turned around, eyes searching for a source of danger.

"It's just…" she took a deep breath and paced the room. "Must we really steal from _here_?"

Isabella brought a hand up to the thick velvet curtains and ran her hand over the soft material, her eyes fixated on the finely cut fabric. "It's so… pure. Untouched. As far as we know it's the only place in the City that's still standing and still… like before."

Garrett narrowed his eyes as he watched her. There was something unusual about her, a part of her he'd been trying to pin down for the past few weeks. But every time he thought he could place his finger on it, it eluded him. He didn't particularly enjoy the idea of being completely in the dark about someone who was becoming dangerously familiar with him.

He turned around and continued to the back. "If we don't take these, someone else will eventually."

"But —"

"You wanted to learn, so learn." Officials and industrialists may have pulled the wool over her eyes, but he decided it was about time she knew the truth of the idyllic world she and countless others had made for themselves.

He picked up the first pair of gloves he saw. "These. Skin of some poached baby animal most likely." He tossed them aside and reached for a nearby scarf. "This. Woven by children or stolen, no doubt."

She stared impassively at him, though with keen eyes studied him. He brushed off a sense of unease and set to unlocking the heavily locked display case. "Believe me, it's far from pure."

"I've never thought about it like that," she said quietly.

Within seconds, he had the case open and was pocketing the intricately studded gold bands and sparkling chains of coloured gems. He looked back to see her fingering the ends of a plain black leather glove. He made one more sweep of the display cases to make sure he hadn't missed anything and turned around again. Isabella was already at the entrance.

"Shall we leave then?" She asked innocently with a mischievous smile across her face.

Garrett followed her out the door, though not before glancing at the display case which was missing one pair of black leather gloves. She was getting better.

* * *

 The darkness of night provided ample cover for the pair as they made their way back to the tower. Garrett deliberately chose a more physically demanding path, which to his surprise Isabella could now follow with minimal strain. She would never have been able to do so a week ago, but her youthful limbs had quickly grown accustomed to the new demands. 

"Shall we race?" She asked as she pulled herself over a railing. "It's safe here. No one else walks the rooftops. And I know my way back."

"No," Garrett answered sharply. "This isn't a game."

Isabella had already grown accustomed to his aloofness. She sighed in defeat. "Well, alright then. Can we at least talk?"

He eyed her warily. "About what?"

"Say, who your parents were. Were they Master Thieves as well? Do you hail from a renowned family of —" She stopped short. There was not a trace of amusement on his face. "That may have been a tad personal. Let's start with a less sensitive topic."

"We don't have to—"

"Oh, the clock tower!" She exclaimed. "I've always been wondering, how did you come to live there?"

He paused, them decided he could indulge her this one time. "Where else would the most wanted man in the city go? After that child fell to his death, people avoided the place like the Gloom. Even stoned the entrance shut, claiming it was the spirit of the late engineer that killed him. Sometimes the stupidity of other people can prove to be of great use."

"It's you, isn't it?"

He narrowed his eyes. She looked ahead, speechless with incredulity, before elaborating. "You were the one who repaired it all those years ago. Of course… So you're an engineer, are you? I know enough about clockwork to know that no average man could repair something as complicated as that."

Garrett had stopped listening to her. His eyes struggled to make out a a blur of a shadow on a ledge in the distance. It moved slightly then stilled, as if steadying itself.

"Get down!" He ducked and yanked Isabella down just as the bolt whizzed through the air where her head had been just moments ago.

Her face hardened and she tightened the belt holding up her loose-fitting pants before following Garrett down the other side of the building.

Another bolt struck the wall an inch away from her and she let out a gasp of surprise before ducking behind a nearby crate. He dropped down soundlessly beside her.

"They're everywhere!" She exclaimed softly.

After drawing a finger to his lips, he peered around the edge to map out their surroundings. Though it was pitch black, Garrett could sense movement coming from the ground to his left and above on a balcony. The street on his right was empty, as far as he could see.

"Two, maybe more. One to your left, another above. Both armed with crossbows, it seems."

He racked his brain; escaping would be hard even if he wasn't held back by her limited mobility. He spotted a half-broken beer bottle by his feet and quietly picked it up. Isabella furrowed her brows. "They're not stupid. They know what a distraction is."

"But it's almost impossible not to look towards a loud noise. It's not as if we have many other options anyway."

She let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Fair point," she said curtly.

"On my count, run to building on your right. There's enough cover there, but stick to the shadows. Scale the wall down there," he pointed down a darkened path, "and make your way south from there. I'll be trailing you."

"And if there are more of them?" Her eyes widened in fear, or perhaps excitement - he couldn't quite tell which.

"Improvise." He gripped the neck of the bottle. "One, two…"

Just as he launched the projectile over his head, Isabella hopped onto her feet and sprinted down the alley. As predicted, the crash drew the attention of the men for a mere few seconds, but those few seconds were enough for the two to make their way safely across the street.

Garrett silently urged her onwards, relieved and surprised by her more than adept agility as she climbed the wall and swung herself over it. He was about to drop down after her when he saw a flutter of cloth out of the corner of his eye.

He turned his head to the roofs above and froze as he saw her, the same glare hardening her features. The white dress clashed violently with the darkness around her, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of her.

"Erin," he called softly.

He made to move, but he blinked once and she was gone. His breathing quickened. His blood pumped faster and harder through his veins. His head started to spin. If not for his vice-like grip he would surely have fallen.

"—rett! Garrett!" Her emphatic whispers brought the world back into focus in an instant.

He looked once more at the empty rooftops before landing on the grass next to her. She stared at him questioningly, her brows knit together worriedly, but he waved her off and scanned the vicinity.

"We're alone, but I doubt that'll last. We have to move." He glanced at her. Her mouth was open as if to question him, but no sound escaped her. "Now."

She nodded, sensing the urgency in his voice, and followed him down a path too dark for them discern where it would lead next.


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Some minor changes made (because I'm an idiot who doesn't edit right away)

Dusk had painted the sky in strokes of soft orange light. The streaks of dying sunlight smothered by the clouds and the smog shone in muted colours, chased to the edges of the world by the dark ashen veil slowly creeping across the sky. The sun was setting, paving the way for monstrosities of all sorts.

In the darkness of the tower Garrett lay prone, trapped and unable to escape the thoughts plaguing his mind. Broken, incoherent visions flashed briefly but brutally, burning white hot in his head. He couldn't discern more than a few images, but they were images he'd rather not have been able to see. Some were of gears and steam and cold sterile metal, others of blood and gore. Most were of her, though. He could still see her face whenever he closed his eyes, feel her gaze boring into his brain. She looked angry, vengeful. _But why shouldn't she be_ , he thought.

He ambled to the basin, wanting nothing more than to escape for just a few hours in solitude and perhaps make a few coins. Dipping his hands in the cool water, he peered into the grimy cracked mirror propped up against the wall. His eye glowed an ethereal blue, appearing brighter in the darkness of the room. He let his gaze drift downwards to the scuffed wooden surface of the table, to the steel razor lying tantalizingly close. As he stared back up at his reflection, he felt his fingers twitch.

With a steady hand, he raised the metal instrument now gripped tightly in his hand to his face. The light emanating from his eye seemed to flicker, as if it could sense his thoughts. He drew the blade closer, and it wavered more violently.

A soft thud jolted him out of his stupor. He whipped around, razor still in hand, towards the source of the noise. He let out a sigh of relief and set the knife down when he saw the bird pecking lightly on the frame of the window. A small matchbox lay at her feet. Basso's hurried scrawl was messier than usual - Garrett suspected he was in a hurry when he wrote it. There were only a few lines of script on the back.

_4: Not safe. Get out of there. Wmvir'w Viwx._

Garrett reached for a stick of charcoal and piece of parchment, recognizing the encrypted message immediately.

"Four… four letters back." He scribbled hastily on the parchment, quickly deciphering the message. "Siren's Rest."

For just a moment, he felt a slight pressure in his head, heard an unintelligible murmuring coming from nowhere and everywhere. Before he could make sense of what had happened, the moment passed. Silence. He shook his head clear, then turned on his heel and dropped the note in the burning brazier. He waited to ensure the paper had burned to ashes before he continued.

The sight of a figure curled up in the corner almost startled him. He had nearly forgotten about her, again.

For reasons unknown to him, the girl had insisted that she use an old mattress she had found in the cache of "antiquities" downstairs instead of his bed. He hadn't argued the point much - or at all, for that matter. He still wasn't accustomed to having her around, nor was he particularly pleased about it. If worst came to worst, he supposed in a few weeks he would be able to send her off on her own without sentencing her to her death. She was progressing, after all, albeit very slowly.

With a gentle nudge of his foot, he roused Isabella from her sleep. "Get up. We have to go."

She groaned and pushed herself up. "Wh-What? Go where?"

Garrett had already rounded up the more precious and rare collectibles he had acquired. He sifted through the pile, taking a few of the smaller trinkets and stowing the rest in a silver-plated strongbox. He closed the clasp firmly and placed it under a loose corner floorboard.

"Take only what you need. We leave now." He ignored the strange murmurs permeating his thoughts.

Isabella scrambled to get up, still in a groggy daze. "Alright," she huffed. "Will I at the very least have the privilege of knowing where it is we're -"

She didn't get the chance to finish her sentence. Garrett raised a hand to stop her, using the other to motion for her to be silent. He slowly crept towards the window, peering outside with keen eyes. All was quiet. Nothing moved. An inexplicable pull gravitated his gaze downwards. He froze when he caught sight of what had been causing his unease.

Staring back at him were two familiar blazing eyes. A wicked, twisted smile contorted the creature's face as it looked up at Garrett with a predatory hunger. It clung to the sides of the tower only a few stories down, gouging its razor-like claws deep between the stones as it crawled up. A garbled wheezing noise escaped its gaping mouth in a sick parody of a laugh. The humming in his head intensified tenfold as he stared down at the steadily advancing creature.

"Isabella," he called without breaking its gaze. "Down the stairs."

By some miracle, she appeared to have sensed the urgency in his voice. Without another word, she jumped up and fled as fast as her legs could carry her. When Garrett heard her descend the second flight down, he promptly pushed himself away from the window and followed suit. A roar of fury ripped through the air as he turned around. From behind him, he could hear the creature rapidly scaling the walls. Within a few seconds, it had entered the building and was gaining fast on Garrett's heels.

Carefully controlling his breathing, he hoisted himself over the railing and dropped to the next level. He continued his descent immediately. 

"There's a latch at the bottom." He spared a glance over his shoulder. The creature was at the top of the stairs. Doubling his speed, he shouted, "hit the switch and push the stone loose."

"I know, I saw you do it!" An irritated cry called out from below in reply. "Give me a moment."

"We don't have one," he muttered as he dropped next to her.

"Got it!" She kicked the stone out and lay down on her back. Placing her hands on the wall outside, she pulled her body through the aperture in one swift motion.

Garrett was already halfway through when he felt a cold hand clamp down on his leg. He grasped for a handhold as a tremendous force pulled him back. Isabella whipped around and took his wrist in both of hers. Bracing her foot against the wall, she dropped down and pulled with all the strength she could muster.

"Hold… on," she gasped.

Garrett used his other leg to kick at the hand on his ankle. It only tightened its grasp. He cried out as his bones ground together painfully. Feeling Isabella's hold on him loosen, he glanced up at her. She let out a slow breath, then let go of his wrist. Without any resistance, the creature immediately wrenched him back in the tower. Adrenaline pumped through his body, forcing the mild confusion out of his mind, as he assessed his chances of survival. The odds did not appear to be in his favour.

The same grating noise filled the air as the creature hunched over its prey. It cocked its head as Garrett, trying in vain to find an opportunity to escape or distract the monster a mere foot away from him, searched the room. When he found nothing, he cursed under his breath and faced the creature again. He wasn't about to make its job any easier by standing still.

Just as he was about to make a dive between its gnarled legs, a voice hollered out to him. "Cover your eyes!"

He didn't have to think twice before he shielded his face. The flash bomb rolled to a stop right in front of him. A subsequent crack sounded as the bomb combusted. Garrett was already out of the tower when he heard the creature shriek in pain. He pulled himself out as fast as he could, exhaling in relief when he saw cloudy skies above. He paused - something felt wrong.

Waiting patiently for him to stand up, the Thief-Taker General stood proudly with a smug grin plastered across his face. He leaned heavily on his cane, pointing his loaded crossbow directly at Isabella's head. Flanking him were two heavily armed guards. His eyes lit up with amusement when he saw who had just emerged.

"The notorious Rat King," he drawled. "Miss me?"

He shifted his aim towards Garrett. "How satisfying it would be to kill you right here and now…"

Garrett narrowed his eyes at him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Isabella open her mouth as if to speak, but he raised a hand to silence her. "So what's stopping you?"

The General chuckled as he lowered his arm. "Got strict orders not to kill you. The Baron needs you  _alive_."

He motioned to his men. "Take him. Don't be afraid of roughing him up a bit." He nodded towards Garrett, then turned his head towards Isabella. "You can kill her. Her death is long overdue anyway."

Garrett turned to Isabella questioningly, but she remained silent, her eyes locked defiantly on the man in front of her.

The General observed the exchange between the two, then let out a small laugh. "What, she didn't tell you? And here I thought whosoever shares your bed shares your secrets. Suppose not every old saying's a wise one."

As he barked at his men to hurry with their task, two bolts bore into the exposed neck of each guard. A third hit the Thief-Taker in his good leg, leaving him howling and crumpled on the ground. Without missing a beat, Garrett sprinted to the cover of the darkened alley behind him with Isabella hot on his tail. The two climbed to the roofs in no time, only pausing to stop once they were a few blocks away.

Isabella sat down as she caught her breath, resting her elbows on her knees as she let her head hang.

He paced behind her. "Wanna tell me what that was about?"

She raised her head again and looked up at him with the trace of a smile on her face. "It appears we have a guardian angel. Imagine that."

"I'm not joking around. What the hell was that?" He kept his voice low, but couldn't hide his seething irritation.

She sighed and turned her head away. "I suppose you were going to find out one way or another."

Garrett turned away abruptly, keeping watch for any signs of danger even though he suspected none were present. He took in a breath to collect himself before turning back to face her, silently demanding an explanation as he looked expectantly at her.

"I promise I will explain it to you. I'm guessing I don't have much of a choice now anyway," she said, eying him nervously.

Isabella rose and brushed the dust off her pants. "But not here. Anything could be lurking in the shadows. The City has ears everywhere - you of all people should know that."

"Fine," Garrett replied, starting off without looking back. "I need to meet with someone. You're coming with me."

"Lead the way," she replied drily.

No trace of sunlight graced the sky. The City was shrouded in complete darkness, the clouds choking out even the sparse light from the moon. Silence was the music of the City that night. Monstrosities of all sorts, its scourges now unleashed and free to roam the decaying streets.

**_End of Part II_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one crazy enough to believe that the Thief-Taker General could have survived? Assuming, of course, that Garrett kept in character and didn't kill him.


End file.
